


The Barber and The Baker

by BadLuckBlueEyes



Category: Sweeney Todd (2007), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angry Erik, Canon Disabled Character, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, F/M, Featuring a morally grey Charles Xavier, Gen, Lots of Murder, M/M, Sweeney Todd - Freeform, almost dark charles but not quite, but don't let that deter you, people will die as chapters go on, seriously if they die in the play don't hold out hope for their survival here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadLuckBlueEyes/pseuds/BadLuckBlueEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, the barber Max Eisenhardt was wronged by Judge Shaw, who exiled him for a crime he did not commit. Now, years later, he has returned to London as Erik Lehnsherr to exact his revenge. A Sweeney Todd Cherik AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based more on the movie than the stage play, though there are elements of both reflected in here. Each chapter is the name of the musical number from the show so that's how the plot is laid out. I hope you all enjoy!

Cast list- 

Erik Lehnsherr (formerly Max Eisenhardt)- A barber with an unusual control over metal, who has returned to London after several years spent in prison with unfinished business 

Charles Xavier- A mind reader with failing legs and a pie shop 

The Honorable Judge Shaw- A cruel judge who rules London with an iron grip 

The Beadle Azazel- Judge Shaw’s right hand man with a power for appearing when unexpected 

Anya Eisenhardt- Erik’s daughter who is kept under lock and key by Shaw 

Sean Cassidy- A sailor stopped in London between journeys. He is responsible for Erik’s rescue 

Hank McCoy- A young orphan seeking approval and a home 

Raven “Mystique”- A flashy ‘Italian’ barber 

The beggar- an old woman who might not be as mad as she seems


	2. No Place Like London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max Eisenhardt is no more. Now he is Erik Lehnsherr, and he is finally home again.

Erik stepped to the ship’s forecastle, the wind blowing in his face as he surveyed London. It had deteriorated in years past, it seemed. Soot painted the building exteriors, turning the once-cheerful brick gloomy. Where there had once been bright sun, only shadows loomed. 

Sean stepped forward, stopping next to Erik. The wind rustled his unruly red hair, the one bright spot in the otherwise monochromatic city. The corner of his lips pulled up and his eyes brightened as he cast his gaze over the approaching ports. 

“I’ve been everywhere, you know. Seen it all. Really, there’s no place like London.” he glanced to Erik before looking back out. Erik grunted, watching the city emerge from the dreary fog. 

“No place like London indeed.” 

“Mr. Lehnsherr?” Sean asked, turning his gaze to Erik and raising his eyebrows. 

“You are young, you’ll soon see.” He replied smoothly, turning his back to the city for a moment. “There’s a hole in the world like a great big pit and it goes by the name of London. I’ve seen the world as well, Sean. You’re right, there truly is no place like London.” 

“Are you alright?” Sean asked, twisting slightly to watch Erik, who nodded once. 

“Forgive me Sean. I’m just reminded of the past.” Erik replied gruffly. Haunted by the shadows, more like, he supposed. “Have I told you the story of the barber and his wife?” Sean shook his head and he glanced at the younger man out of the corner of his eye. 

“There was a barber.” he started. Sean leaned against the side of the ship, listening. 

“The barber and his wife.” Erik continued. “And he loved her so. They were married, she had a child. It was perfect. But he was foolish, the barber. He had a certain control over metal…” Erik let his voice drift off and he closed his eyes, breathing deep and feeling the pull of each nail in the ship. 

“And?” Sean prompted. Erik opened his eyes and glared at him. 

“And he was foolish.” 

“Ah.” Sean nodded once, looking away. 

“He was transported for life in a ship of all wood from which he could not escape. All for his stupidity.” Erik spit the last word out. 

“What did he do?” Sean asked curiously. 

“He dared to love, to marry a woman. A judge disagreed with such a brash move, and had him sent away with the intent of pursuing the beautiful woman for himself.” 

“Did she go with him?” Sean cocked his head, bright eyes eagerly awaiting an answer. Erik shrugged and turned away, bracing his hands on the side of the ship and staring out over the water. Sean stood a few paces behind him, watching, waiting. 

“That was many years ago, Sean. I couldn’t tell you the ending of the story.” he turned his head slightly without shifting the rest of his body. “I need to thank you Sean, for your keen eye. If you hadn’t spotted me I’d still be adrift on the water.” 

Erik was silent as the ship docked, watching as he was suddenly standing above solid land for the first time in months. They disembarked together, Erik’s longer legs carrying him further than Sean. He paused at the edge of the docks, giving Sean a moment to catch up. 

“Where can I find you, Mr. Lehnsherr?” he asked, panting slightly. Erik raised his head and looked around. 

“Around Fleet Street, I’d suppose.” He walked off, leaving Sean behind in the rapidly-darkening night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to idareu2bme for the beta. Let me know what you think and I hope you all keep reading!


	3. Worst Pies in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik finds that his old residence has been taken over by somebody he knew once.

The wind whipped through Erik’s hair as he strode purposefully through the all-too familiar streets. He kept his head down, focusing on the grimy cobblestones and reaching his destination without issue. He slipped through back alleys, pausing to look up when the last one opened into the road across from his former home. 

Someone had moved in. It looked as though they had been there for years. The large wooden sign haphazardly mounted above the doorway was faded almost beyond recognition. Erik squinted, trying to decipher the curling silver script from the once-blue background. _Xavier’s Meat Pies_ , he read. 

_Ah_ , he thought; _A comrade. Perhaps even a friend._

Seconds later he was striding across the street, stopping an oncoming cart short with his powers as it careened around the corner toward him. He barely looked at it as he entered the pie shop, a small bell above his head gaily tinkling to announce his arrival. He silenced it, narrowing his eyes at the man behind the customer when he felt something soft and warm brush across his mind. It was unexpectedly pleasant, almost a tickle. Erik refused to enjoy it. 

The owner of the shop looked up immediately, the warmth withdrawing from Erik’s mind at the same time, and Charles Xavier’s entire face lit up with glee. He immediately forgot about the small meat pie he was making, stopping pounding on the dough with a rolling pin to welcome Erik. 

“A customer! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had a customer, do come in.” He gestured to the empty shop, inviting Erik in. His arm fell to his side as Erik stayed in the doorway, hesitating, ready to turn and leave. 

“What’s your rush? Come in.” Charles straightened, and Erik realized that he was on some kind of metal stool. Charles frowned slightly. “Do forgive my not standing to greet you, I’m afraid that walking’s become quite a challenge in recent years. Come have a pie, I haven’t had a customer in ages.” 

Erik walked in and sat down at the table closest to Charles, who grabbed the nearest pie and slammed it on a metal plate, ignoring the bug that crawled out of the side. Erik raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand, bringing the plate to him. Charles clapped his hands together. 

“Oh that’s marvelous, really fantastic. Dig in, won’t you? Nobody’s come in for weeks, you’d think I had the plague, the way they keep avoiding m- oh.” he glanced down at the bug crawling into the fresh pie in front of him, squishing it between his fingers and flicking it away. “I don’t, by the way.” 

“Hm?” Erik looked up from the plate. He had been staring at the pie, trying to determine if it was actually edible. 

“The plague. I don’t have the plague. Plague’s not going to stop my legs from working. I don’t know what does, but it’s certainly not that. Thirsty?” without waiting for an answer, Charles disappeared from sight, leaning over to grab something. He reappeared a moment later, shoving a wooden crutch under his arm as he slid off of the stool. Erik found that he was mistaken, the metal he had detected near Charles was in fact large braces strapped to his legs. 

Charles leaned on the counter for a moment as he caught his balance, looking as though the only reason he was able to stand was due to the braces holding him up, before grabbing a bottle of ale and throwing his weight onto the crutch, crossing the shop and depositing the bottle on the table in front of Erik, pulling out a chair and falling into it. 

“I suppose I can’t blame anyone for staying away, I’d wager these are the absolute worst pies in London. Take a bite, I dare you. Isn’t it disgusting?” Erik nodded, lifting the pie to his mouth and taking a bite, barely managing to suppress a gag when it hit his tongue. Charles nudged the ale toward him. 

“Drink that, you’ll need it. I mean, the price of meat’s gone through the roof.” Charles continued. “Now this lady down the street, Moira, her business is amazing. Couldn’t figure out why her business was booming, then I saw all her neighbor’s cats had all disappeared. I’ve got to hand it to her, that’s one way to run a business. No idea how she does it though, cats are vicious and quick and she’s a human. Hard times will do that to you, I suppose.” 

Erik nodded again, not fully listening as he took several large swallows of ale. Charles glanced at the pie and wrinkled his nose. 

“Oh god, it looks like it’s molting, that’s horrid.” He picked up the pie and examined it. “It’s all greasy and gritty, whatever did I do wrong?” he sniffed it. “Well, it’s just me in here, can you blame me?” 

While Charles sniffed the pie, Erik turned his head to the side and spit out what remained in his mouth. He looked back in time to see Charles put the pie back down. 

“What can I say? Times are hard.” he shrugged, grabbing the ale and gulping it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to idareu2bme for the beta read.


	4. Poor Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik finds out what happened to his family.

“There’s a room above you, isn’t there? Why don’t you let someone rent it?” Erik finally said, breaking Charles’ monologue. Charles glanced up at the ceiling, contemplating it for a moment, before shaking his head slightly and looking to Erik. 

“People say it’s haunted.” 

“Do they now?” Erik raised an eyebrow. 

“Can’t say I blame them, what with what happened there all those years ago.” Charles sighed heavily, shifting slightly in his seat and reaching for the ale again. “There was a barber who used to live up there with his family. Max Eisenhardt was his name. Used to have a power just like yours. Proper artist, he was. Beautiful. Then they locked him up in a big wooden ship and sent him off.” 

“What was his crime?” Erik couldn’t help but ask, curious as to what the stories about him said. Charles looked him dead in the eye, utterly serious. 

“Idiocy.” he leaned back, glancing over Erik’s shoulder. "He had a chance at happiness with his wife and daughter. But they were stupid and they lost him. There was this judge, you see. Wanted her like mad he did, and he was powerful too. Not just in influence, he's like us. Had these powers, he could absorb all sorts of energy." Charles grew quiet, reflective. Normally Erik would have enjoyed the silence, reveled in it, but now was not the time. He needed to know. 

"And?" 

"And?" Charles looked at him. "It's quite a lot, would you mind if I...?" He waved his fingers toward his temple, asking permission to enter his mind. Erik nodded curtly and the warmth was in his mind again, the edges tinged with ice as he shared the memory with Erik. 

Erik's vision went hazy around the edges and the shop changed as his view rippled slightly, showing him Magda. He held back a small gasp. Magda was crying, sobbing over Anya’s bassinet. Charles stood behind her, younger and unhindered, trying to offer what help he could. They both jumped when the Beadle Azazel appeared in a puff of smoke, bowing low and grinning wickedly. He held out a single rose to Magda 

_She just sat there and cried_ , Charles said, speaking through the memory. _Azazel brought roses from Shaw every day, but she just stayed up there and refused to leave. Poor thing_. 

The scene shifted slightly, the sun disappearing from the window and the shadows lengthening to become ominous. Magda dozed in an old rocking chair, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Azazel popped into the room, dressed in formal attire, his red skin striking in the dim light. Magda startled slightly and looked up at him, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. Azazel spoke to her quickly, his voice low and urgent. His body language never strayed from politeness. He seemed to be the utmost of gentlemen. 

Whatever he said must have worked because Magda nodded and stood, glancing to the sleeping Anya. She stepped over to the baby, stooping to kiss her forehead. She backed away and glanced to Azazel, who offered his arm. Magda searched his face, but the beadle’s expression was stone. It gave nothing away. She bit her lip and took Azazel’s arm, gasping in surprise when they disappeared in a small puff of smoke, only to reappear in the middle of a grand ballroom. Azazel stepped back, disappearing into the swirling dancers. Magda looked around, helpless. She pulled her shawl tighter across her body, trying to hide how underdressed she was in her thin nightgown. 

_She was lost, she thought that Judge Shaw was going to apologize to her, that he blamed himself for what had happened._ Charles trailed off again, the _but she was wrong_ left implied. 

Someone pressed a glass into Magda’s hand and she raised it to her mouth, downing it quickly and looking around in confusion. More glasses found their way to her and she spun in circles, looking for Shaw, begging someone to tell her where the judge was. Everyone she talked to laughed and left her alone. 

_They laughed at her. Thought she had to be mad, the way she was acting. Thought it was the highest kind of entertainment, they did. Poor soul. Poor thing._ Charles went silent and Erik stayed still, locked in the memory, focused on Magda. The pit in his stomach grew steadily larger as the memory progressed. 

Shaw appeared suddenly, a grin stretching across his face as he saw Magda. He raised a mask, hiding his features, and danced around her, gracefully attempting to seduce. Magda paid him no mind, collapsing instead on a large couch. Shaw stepped forward as the crowd closed in around him, Azazel cackling like a madman among the fringes. 

Shaw pulled open his coat, thrusting the tails behind him with a dramatic air, before throwing himself on top of Magda. The memory froze, but Magda’s sudden screams echoed in Erik’s mind and he stood, hands clutched over his ears. 

“No!” he cried, falling to his knees from the force of the psychic pain. “Could nobody have mercy on her? Not one soul?” Charles looked down at him, a sad smile pulling at his lips. 

“So, it is you.” 

“What?” Erik pried his hands from his ears and looked at Charles, swiping at the tears that had formed in his eyes. 

“Max Eisenhardt. I thought it might be, but you keep your mind locked up tight. Couldn't get a read.” he sighed and shook his head. Erik ignored Charles. 

“What happened to her?” he asked instead, his stomach clenching as Charles’ expression fell. 

“She poisoned herself. Arsenic. From the apothecary ‘round the corner.” Charles spoke quickly, his sentences clipped, as though he almost didn’t believe it himself. “And he’s got your daughter.” 

“Anya?” Erik’s eyes suddenly widened as a glimmer of hope found its way in. “She’s alive?” 

“Shaw kept her as his ward. Raised her as his own. He keeps her locked up tight up there, she’s not allowed outside. She’s become so beautiful. Looks like her mum.” Erik swallowed heavily and nodded, already wondering how he could get her back. 

“Why don’t we go upstairs, eh Max?” Charles struggled for a moment before he was upright. Erik cast a doubtful glance at the braces weighing Charles down. 

“Can you get upstairs? With those things?” Charles pouted for a moment. 

“I certainly can. Today’s a good day.” 

“There are worse days?” 

“Some days my legs cooperate and some days they don’t and I can’t move them. Bad days outweigh the good lately, I’m afraid. Don’t rightly know what it is, the doctor told me that it’s something to do with my spine.” Charles started shuffling forward. “Coming then, Max?” to Erik strode forward, glaring at Charles, making eye contact. 

“Max Eisenhardt is dead. But Erik Lehnsherr shall have his revenge.” With that, he stalked through the front door in search of the staircase on that side of the building that would lead him up to his former home, leaving Charles behind in the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to idareu2bme for being an awesome beta reader.


	5. My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik reunites with something from his past.

Erik was halfway up the stairs when the door to Xavier’s Meat Pies swung open again and Charles finally made it outside. Erik glanced over his shoulder and sighed. He leaning against the wall while Charles struggled to get on the first step. Minutes passed and, patience waning, Erik took matters into his own hands. With a wave of his hand, Charles rose into the air, lifted by the metal of his braces. 

“Erik? Erik what are you doing?” cried Charles. His voice was fearful, but with an hint of something else, something happier. Was it exhilaration? Erik found he didn’t particularly care. He kept walking, stopping when he reached the top stair and moving so that Charles landed in front of him. 

“I’d appreciate some warning next time.” Charles grumbled. The other man was flustered, his face pink as he smoothed down his shirt and pulled at it, trying to fix his slightly disheveled appearance. He ran a hand through his hair and gestured to the door. “I don’t have the key, but I’m sure that’s not a problem for you, is it?” 

The corner of Erik’s mouth pulled up. He shook his head, tilting it slightly and unlocking the door with ease. Charles went in first, bracing himself against the door as he went. He pointing at a floorboard that was raised slightly, not as dusty and old looking as the others. 

“In there, I think you’ll find something you’ve been missing,” he said softly, watching Erik. Erik glanced to him, raising a single curious eyebrow. He knelt beside the raised floorboard and, using his powers, pried it up by its nails. Beneath was revealed a small velvet box. From his position kneeling on the floor, Erik picked it up and held it reverently. 

“They’re all there. I mean, I could have sold them, but I wasn’t all that worried about money yet. So I didn’t. I still had the old family money. Then it ran out. I thought about selling them then, but by that point my legs were starting to hurt and I couldn’t get up the stairs.” Charles shrugged. “Chased silver, right? Beautiful razors, they are.” 

Erik nodded once, opening the box, reverently lifting free a razor. He ran his fingers over it, almost as if he didn’t believe it was truly there. As he held one, the rest floated out, each one unfolding and hovering in front of him. He shifted slightly, sitting down. 

“Oh, my friends, how I’ve missed you,” he murmured. He immediately forgot that Charles was there. He plucked a different one from the air and held it close, examining it. “In perfect condition too, look how this one shines.” His voice took on a wistful tone as he took yet another razor from the air, running his fingers over it. 

“Oh, my friends, the things we’ll do now…” he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle. “Look how you’ve been locked away, hidden from everyone for all this time; they tried to lock me away too. No matter, we’ll do wonders, won’t we, friends?” 

“I’m your friend too, Erik.” Charles piped up from his place near the doorway, speaking quietly so as not to startle the other man. “If you only knew.” His voice went soft. If Erik had been paying attention, he would have had to strain to hear it. “Always had a real fondness for you, I did. Practically loved you.” 

“You can move in here if you like,” Charles spoke up. This time deliberately getting Erik’s attention. “If you like,” he repeated, thinking about how they could have everything. They could be an unstoppable force. Charles felt himself falling just as fast as he had when he had met the man when he was still Max. 

Erik nodded absently, marveling at how the razors were quickly growing warm in his palms. 

“Your shine’s merely silver, but we’ll soon drip rubies, won’t we?” Erik spoke under his breath to the razors, standing again and facing Charles. “Leave me.” 

Nodding once, Charles did as he was told. He limped out the door and closed it behind him, staying on the top step with no way of getting down. Erik strode to the window. He held the razor above his head as a few rays of sun shone in, barely breaking through the overcast day. 

“At last.” Erik grinned, lips pulling up in a predatory grin. “My arm is complete again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Updates! I'm going to try and update with more frequency from now on, but no promises.


	6. Green Finch and Linnet Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Erik's daughter.

Across town, in the wealthier part of London, Anya perched on her window seat, looking outside. She dreamed of actually going outside someday, breathing in the crisp outside air and feeling the cobblestones beneath her boots. Her birds chirped in their cages at the other end of the seat, fluttering their wings but never taking off from their perches. Anya sighed. She sighed quite a lot. It was probably something a lot of girls her age did. She didn’t know if that was true or not, she never actually spoke to girls her age. She was kept just as caged as the birds. 

“How are you still singing?” She turned her head, still facing the window but looking at the birds. “Honestly, you can’t even fly and you’re sitting there chirping anyway.” She glanced back out the window. 

“I wish you could fly, and that I could fly, and that we could all fly away,” she continued, speaking under her breath and watching the window fog up slightly as she exhaled. She looked up, smiling for a moment at the stars. 

“How can you remain, staring at the rain, maddened by the stars?” she asked the birds. She started humming tunelessly, filling the silence. “Nothing sings in here. Not me, not the birds, nothing. If we can’t fly, can’t we at least sing?” 

In the hallway, Sebastian Shaw stopped a few feet to the right of the door to Anya’s room. He smiled slightly as he stepped to the wall to silently move a large frame from its mount. He lowered it to the ground so he could look through the peephole he had placed there years before. He stared at Anya hungrily, wanting to storm in and take her. She was already his, but she had developed a stubborn streak and he was feeling… possessive. He’d had her mother already, and he could have her too, if he wanted. She wouldn’t be able to fight him. His powers would see to that. He’d been storing energy for weeks now. He could use an outlet. 

His lustful thoughts stopped when he saw Anya wave at someone. Who was his ward waving at? Nobody could have her but him. He replaced the frame and stormed off, intending to catch whoever it was. Anya continued looking out the window, none the wiser to what had happened just behind her. 

In the street below, Sean stood transfixed, staring up at the beautiful woman who smiled and waved at him from the window. He blushed and looked down, fumbling with his map, trying to remember where Hyde Park was. He couldn’t remember where anything was. He looked back up, shyly returning the wave. He jumped slightly when someone appeared only inches away from him, crooning in his ear. 

“Alms, alms, for a lonely woman, on a terrible wretched morning?” Sean glanced to the old woman, hunched over, wrapped in rags that had likely been colorful once but were now faded to a lifeless brown. He instinctively stepped away when the smell hit him. She smelled of death, of sickness and dirt and whatever was smeared on one cheek. Was it excrement? He didn’t want to find out. 

Pity took over though, and Sean was a gentleman, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins, dropping them into the outstretched bony fingers that curled around the shining coins and disappeared. 

“Pray tell, who is that girl?” he asked, leaning in a little, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose and run the other direction. He focused on her gnarled hands and listened while she spoke. 

“Oh, that’s Anya, she’s the ward of the great Judge Turpin. Keeps her locked up tight, he does. She’s not allowed to go outside. Don’t let him see you.” Sean nodded. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and the old woman bowed before moving on, resuming her crowing and begging. He glanced up at the window and saw Anya watching. 

He smiled and waved again, a little less shy, and Anya smiled, raising her hand to press it against the window. In the confines of her room, Anya wondered if the boy would come back another day. 

“If I cannot fly.” Anya said quietly, looking out with a wistful expression weighing on her features. “Then let me sing.”


	7. Anya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean meets the love of his life. Also, he gets beat up.

Anya looked over her shoulder and disappeared suddenly from the window. Sean looked back down and stared at the map in confusion, shrugging to himself. Across the street, the large door below Anya’s window creaked open and a face appeared, smiling. A hand followed, gently beckoning Sean in. Intrigued, Sean stepped forward, crossing the street and climbing the few steps into the house. The door thudded shut behind him and he glanced over his shoulder at it. 

Shaw was already walking away, toward a bright room filled with books. 

“So, my boy, what profession do you call yours?” 

“S-” Sean cleared his throat, swallowing heavily so that he wouldn’t accidentally shatter a window with his power. “Sailor. I’m a sailor by trade.” 

“A sailor?” 

“Yes, though I seem to have lost my way. It’s embarrassing really, a sailor to lose his bearings on land. I can’t seem to find Hyde Park.” 

“Yes.” Shaw spoke vaguely, not entirely listening. Azazel appeared behind Sean, a small puff of smoke announcing his arrival. Sean let out a small shriek of surprise, unable to help himself. Though he clapped his hand over his mouth, it was too late and the window across from him began to crack. 

“Fascinating mutation,” Shaw murmured as he turn to watch the glass cracking. “Pity about the window.” 

“Sorry,” Sean’s face turned scarlet and he looked at his shoes. “I don’t really have an enormous amount of control over my… power.” He hesitated, trying to figure out what to call it. Mutation seemed like a strange term. 

“That’s not what concerns me.” 

“No?” he asked, curious. 

“No,” Shaw replied, turning around. “My concern is for my ward. You gandered at her.” 

“I- what?” Sean asked. 

“You gandered at her.” Shaw’s voice was quiet and deadly. Behind him, the window exploded, causing Sean to jump. He had no idea what had destroyed the remains of the window. “You had the audacity to gander at my ward when I have spent years keeping her safe from the likes of you.” Above him, the heavy chandelier started shaking. Sean suddenly saw himself destroyed by the heavy weight of the ornate brass above him and desperately hoped that the chandelier would stay intact- and attached to the ceiling. 

“I meant nothing of it! She waved at me!” he squeaked, trying to keep his voice normal, to not break anything else. 

“She would do no such thing,” Shaw roared. A sudden blast of energy knocked Sean backward. The beadle stepped forward and gripped his shoulder, sharp nails digging into Sean’s skin. He was sure he would bruise from it. 

They were outside in a second. Azazel released Sean and stepping back, only to deliver a firm kick to his side a minute later. 

“Hyde Park is not far off.” He drawled. “A left, a right, a left.” He delivered each direction with another kick. Sean curled into a small ball, whimpering slightly. “Do not come again, you will not leave alive.” the beadle leaned in close, his thick accent dripping into Sean’s ear. Then he was gone, the stench of sulfur the only indicator that he was ever there. 

Sean pulled his legs into his chest, trying to get his breath back. He didn’t feel anything broken, which he was grateful for. He sat up after another moment, combing his wild hair out of his face and wiping the blood from his nose. 

He stood, walking out of the alley he found himself in. As he stepped across the street, Sean saw that he was in front of the window again. Anya was absent. He stared up wistfully anyway. 

“I feel you, Anya,” he said. “I know you’re there somewhere. I thought you might be a dream.” He shifted his bag on his shoulder, wincing in pain. “Not a dream. This is real. You’re the good part of that. Azazel is not.” 

He walked, keeping the beadle’s directions in mind while he came up with a plan. 

“I’ll steal you,” he decided, coming to a stop. “I’ll steal you from Shaw and we can run away together. He looked over his shoulder, staring at the house that loomed behind him. “I’m almost at your window. It’s like I’m right beside you. ‘Til I’m with you then, I’m with you there.” 

He kept his head down and hurried the rest of the way to his destination, plotting all the way.


	8. Mystique's Miracle Elixir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets annoyed by a foreign barber.

Unfortunately, Charles was smitten. Though he tried to hide it, he was utterly delighted to find Erik returned to London. He would have let Erik stay for less than nothing. He might have begged him, even. But Erik quietly moved in without making any waves and Charles did no begging. It was good for them both. If Charles tried to get down on his knees to beg, he never would have gotten up. Erik repaid Charles by going to the market once a week to get supplies. 

The situation benefitted both of them, as Charles could no longer make the trips. Since Erik had moved back into his old shop, things had taken a sharp turn for the worse and Charles spent most of his time sitting in various chairs that he had strategically placed throughout the shop and laboring to move between them, collapsing every time into each seat, utterly exhausted but thrilled that he had made it. 

Erik planned on making him a wheelchair. It would be a better one than anything they could buy. He could do it at any moment, but Charles was a pain, and would refuse to use it as long as he could walk a single step or wiggle his toes. He was unrelenting and for some reason would rather take ten minutes to shuffle and drag himself across the small shop rather than roll across it in seconds. His absolute stubbornness, which was somewhat endearing at first, was now driving Erik up the wall. 

A few weeks after Erik had reclaimed his barbershop, Charles found he was having a very rare good day as far as his ability to use his legs went. He could almost walk like normal. Almost. This was cause for celebration, so he accompanied Erik to the market. Erik had been making Charles’ trips to the market for him, an alternative to paying rent. Erik had no money either. 

“Oh, it’s Thursday.” Charles realized as they approached the market. Until he spoke, they had been silent, the only interruption the rhythmic thumping of Charles’ crutch on the ground. “Mystique will be here.” 

“Mystique?” It was the first thing Erik had said aloud all day. 

“Barber. Italian.” he said the word Italian slowly, pronouncing it _eye-tal-ion_ , almost as if he were tasting the word in his mouth, weighing it on his tongue. “Likes to show up and make a big fuss of things.” 

“Ah.” Erik lapsed back into silence, disliking this Mystique already. 

They were silent for the rest of the walk, Charles occasionally projecting thoughts to Erik, not bothering to speak. It was easier for him to project thoughts than to actually speak, especially when he was walking. It took less energy. 

_That’s right. It’s also sneakier. Much more fun._ Charles projected to Erik. _Apologies, my friend, you were projecting without realizing. I overheard your last thought there._

_Leave, please._ Erik thought very deliberately, and the warm presence he hadn’t realized was there suddenly disappeared. They continued in absolute silence, and Erik started picking out food automatically once they reached the market, dumping produce into a bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Charles butted in once or twice, examining the vegetables and nodding at it before Erik took them, though he seemed remarkably pleased with Erik’s selections. 

They were on their way to the butcher when the small stage in the corner of the market started shaking. A second later, a dirty set of curtains parted and a small figure covered in tufts of blue fur stepped out, banging on a drum. He was dressed formally, the blue fur sticking out of his collar and sleeves. He fixed a small bowler hat on top of his head and continued banging on the drums, nearly dropping his glasses. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” he dragged out the please, singing a little bit to turn more heads. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a small and gangly boy, though he was clearly not human with his fur. Erik figured the boy was like him and Charles. 

"Do you wake every morning in dread to find that your pillow is covered in hair? That really should not be there?" the beginning of his speech sounded well rehearsed. The boy paused, only for a beat, looking around to see if he had everyone's attention. Upon realizing that he did not, he banged the drum again and turned up the volume. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, from now on you can wake easier! You need never again have a worry or care, I will show you a miracle marvelous _and_ rare! Everyone, you are about to see something incredible…” he trailed off, nudging his glasses up his nose. 

Erik stood, arms crossed, watching with his eyebrows raised. Charles turned back to the boy, sneaking into his mind and leaning more heavily on his crutch as he exerted himself, losing what little energy he had woken with. The boy onstage looked around. 

“... On the top of my head!” he finished his sentence, taking off the bowler hat to reveal long blue hair that tumbled down. There were chuckles throughout the crowd in response. The boy, no, teen, Charles found as he gently probed for information, preened at the attention. 

“It’s Mystique’s Miracle Elixir! I swear, it’s true. Look, it’s real.” he drew his fingers through the hair, deftly untangling knots with his fingers. “Was it quick? Of course it was, did it in a tick, just like an elixir should.” He turned, disappearing momentarily only to return with an armful of bottles, each filled with a yellow liquid. He put them all on the stage, keeping one in each hand. He passed one into the audience, letting people send the bottle around while uncorking the other, sprinkling it onto the shining head of someone standing by. 

“How about a bottle? Only costs a penny, I swear it. It works by stimulating growth, amazing innit? Rub that in, isn’t your scalp tingling? Soon you’ll have to thin it once a week!” he grinned, speaking directly to the man who he had splashed with the elixir, though his voice was loud enough that everyone could still hear what he was saying. 

Erik was unamused. He glanced around, lowering his questioning eyebrow after several long moments of watching the boy onstage. People were passing the bottle along, looking curiously at the contents. On his right, Charles wrinkled his nose. 

_Do you smell that?_ He projected, egging Erik on, figuring they could cause some mischief. Erik flicked his eyes to Charles, not turning his head but still acknowledging him. Sure enough, a somewhat foul smell was sneaking through the air, and Erik realized it could only come from the bottle. Seeing the chance to cause some havoc, the corner of his mouth turned up in the hint of a grin and he subtly nodded his thanks to Charles. 

“Pardon me, but what’s that awful smell?” he spoke softly, but people turned to the authority in his voice nonetheless. Charles grinned, gleaning Erik’s plan from his mind. 

“Are we standing near an open trench? Or a sewer, perhaps?” Charles replied, turning his head back and forth, exaggerating his actions as best he could, searching for something that was not there. 

“We must be.” Erik concluded aloud, slightly annoyed at Charles. _Stop hovering in my mind._

_Apologies, my friend._

“Try Mystique’s Elixir!” the boy crowed, desperately trying to regain the attention of the crowd. “It will work on everyone! Thick hair, thin hair, you’ll have a fresh head in no time.” Desperation was crawling into his tone and he swallowed, nervous and shaken by that point. “When they see your hair, sir, you’ll have your pick of the girls? Buy a bottle?” 

When the bottle found its way into Erik’s hands, he grinned the grin that people often told him was not unlike that of a shark. He always responded that he’d never seen a shark smile. He delicately sniffed it, and found himself convinced that it was urine. 

“What is this?” he asked, holding the bottle to Charles. 

“What is this, indeed?” the other man replied, reaching out a hand to take the bottle, their fingers brushing as it passed hands. 

“Smells like piss.” Erik noted. 

“Smells like- oh, ew, you’re right. ” Charles wrinkled his nose, passing the bottle back to Erik, shifting his weight away from the so-called elixir. Erik held it up. 

“Looks like piss,” he added. 

“Wouldn’t lay a hand on it if I were you,” Charles warned the people around him, mentally nudging the crowd to make them believe him. 

“It’s piss with ink.” Erik let the bottle fall to the ground, the glass breaking at his feet and the contents spreading through the cracks in the road. 

“Let it activate your roots?” the boy onstage tried one last time, already sitting down in defeat. 

“Don’t let it near your boots, it’ll eat right through.” Erik elbowed the man next to him roughly, barking out a laugh. 

“Use a bottle of it, ladies seem to love it…” the boy finished sadly, going quiet and ducking his head in shame. Charles stared at the boy, raising one eyebrow and grinning almost maliciously. Without missing a beat, he replied with a grin, 

“Flies do too.” 

Erik glanced at Charles, surprise crossing his face before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. In his chest, his heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t been that amused by something since… Erik shook his head to compose himself. He would not think about Magda. 

The curtain on the stage parted and a man in the most ridiculous outfit ever conceived stepped onto the stage. It was garish, purple and black and sitting in all of the wrong places. The man had a small mustache that curled upwards and in on itself, and his hair somehow matched. To top it all off, a top hat that was far too tall was perched on his head. 

“Buongiorno, I am-a Adolpho Mystique,” he crowed, and Erik realized why Charles hated him. There was not a single redeeming quality about the man. “And I am-a the king of the barbers and the barber of kings.” he strode forward, stopping at the edge of the stage to scan the audience. Charles looked down, avoiding his gaze. Though he had enjoyed himself, he would not acknowledge his actions. 

“I want-a to know-a who says that my elixir is piss.” He roared, whatever composure he had stepped onstage with suddenly gone. He blinked several times, smoothing the front of his jacket before continuing. “Who said this?” Erik stared at the man for a long moment before taking a single step forward. 

“I did.” he spoke. 

A murmur rippled through the crowd and Erik narrowed his eyes at Mystique. Erik took another step forward. 

“My name is Erik Lehnsherr and I say that it’s a fraud. Made of piss and ink.” Erik raised a single eyebrow, challenging him to say otherwise. “Though I have to say I haven’t shaved any kings, I’d wager I am a far better barber than you could ever hope to be.” 

Mystique looked him up and down, lips curling into a sneer and revealing crooked teeth. 

“You would-a put-a a wager on this?” The man on the stage challenged. Erik met his gaze, unblinking. 

“Immediately.” He pulled a razor from his pocket and held it above his head. Since finding them, Erik had taken to keeping at least one on his person at all times, quietly cherishing the feel of metal against him. “This razor is among the finest in England. I’d lay it against five pounds. Either accept my wager, or-” Erik glanced around, satisfied that every eye was on him. “Admit that you are a fraud.” 

A small gasp rippled through the crowd, and Mystique laughed. 

“You foolish man, of course I accept-a your bet. Let-a us-a now see how-a he will regret this! Hank!” the man turned and roared at the teen, who jumped up with a small squeak, disappearing behind the stage, only to return a moment later with shaving supplies. 

“Who wants a free shave?” Erik murmured, stepping toward the stage. Someone handed him supplies as he climbed the few steps, and Erik hung back while two chairs were placed on the stage. He looked around and saw the opportunity to exact his revenge in the crowd. 

“Will the Beadle Azazel be the judge?” Erik raised his voice, letting it carry. Azazel joined him, appearing in a puff of smoke. 

“Da.” He tipped his hat to Erik. “Happy, as always, to help.” 

Erik nodded and looked away, focusing on the task at hand.


	9. The Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik challenges the annoying foreign barber to a shaving contest.

When he was sure that both men were ready, Azazel faced the crowd.

“The fastest, smoothest shave shall win,” he announced, folding his hands behind his back and stepping behind the competitors to observe. Mystique stepped forward, draping a large Italian flag over the man he had to shave.

“Now, let-a me tell-a all of you how-a I do it.” He spoke with a wink at the crowd. “You get-a the lather and you-a start there. Remember, I have had-a the glory to shave-a the Pope! Hank!” He called, kicking the boy, who leapt off the stage to retrieve a small note signed by the Pope. Hank held up the paper, and a small chuckle rippled through the crowd.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, whoever you-a are, I’m-a sure you will-a say nope, but I promise you, it was-a the Pope.” Erik didn’t acknowledge Mystique. He held up his razor instead, examining it. Mystique sighed and continued his monologue, calling Hank over to sharpen his own (less impressive) razors. He sliced open Hanks knuckles in his aggressive attempts to make the razors less dull. In the crowd, Charles frowned, clearly displeased with the man’s treatment of Hank. He stayed where he was, watching, though he could have done something to help. He saw no benefit for himself in stepping in, and so Charles gladly stayed back, not-so-subtly admiring Erik.

“To shave-a the face… To trim-a the hair…” Mystique had changed tactics, crooning now as he pressed close to his customer, getting in the man’s face as he spoke. The razors still sat unused in Mystique’s hand. “If you-a slip, it could-a be very bad.” He finally backed up, giving himself room to work, and finally put blade to skin.

With every stroke of the razor across his face, Mystique held the razor out, and Hank popped up to wipe it off. When he went too slowly, Mystique slapped him across the face while looking out to the audience, pretending to mourn the boy’s lack of speed.

“The art-a of-a the shave is-a a talent graced-a to me by-a God.” he explained before crossing himself with exaggerated reverence.

On his side of the stage, Erik hadn’t moved. He still held the razor up, examining it. Rather than sharpening it like Mystique had, he used his powers instead to fix the edge, smoothing out any scratch or dull spot. He glanced to his customer, who sat in the chair staring blankly at the audience. Erik glanced to Mystique, who was telling people about the importance of grace and god-given talent. He looked back to his customer and lowered the razor, holding it close to the man’s face. And then, seconds later, he was done.

He wiped the razor off on an old cloth while his customer swatted at the odd specks of shaving cream on his face.

“The winner is Lehnsherr!” Azazel called. Mystique dropped his razor, shocked. He stalked over, examining the man’s face. In the crowd, Charles grinned.

“That’s impossible,” he growled, exaggerated accent gone. He straightened, looking to Erik. He bowed low, the look on his face almost pained. “I must-a bow to a skill far greater than my own,” he purred, and suddenly the accent was back, as if it had never left.

“Five pounds.” Erik held out his hand, waiting for his reward. Mystique narrowed his eyes, glaring at Erik as he snapped at Hank in an attempt to get his attention. Erik watched Mystique, listening while Hank fumbled around and emerged with a bag of coins. Mystique snatched it, glanced inside to ensure the money was there, and dropped it into Erik’s waiting palm.

Erik left in search of Azazel who had disappeared as soon as he declared Erik the winner. He was sure the beadle was still around, looking to get involved in some other scheme. Something red flashed in the corner of his eye and Erik turned on his heel, coming face to face with the man he was looking for.

"Might I just say," Erik hated himself for every word spoken to Azazel. "That you sir, are a paragon of integrity."

"Da." Azazel's lips stretched into something gruesome that Erik couldn't quite call a grin.

“I’d like to offer you a small token of my thanks,” Erik continued. “If you’d be willing to come visit my barbershop, I’ll give you the closest shave you’ll ever know. Absolutely free of charge, of course.”

“You did good work,” Azazel replied. There was no hint of recognition in his eyes, no idea that he was talking to a man he’d helped send away all those years prior. “You will see me before the week is out.”

“You should stop for a pie while you’re there. I have my shop right below his. On Fleet street.” Charles appeared in front of the stage. If Charles was reading Erik’s mind (which he probably was, considering that he had no regard for staying out of people’s heads, not if he could use what was in them to his advantage).

If Charles was reading Erik’s mind, then he said nothing about Erik’s mental fantasies of driving a razor through Azazel’s throat.

“We shall see.” Azazel nodded to Charles, his tail waving behind him. He disappeared for good a moment later, leaving Charles and Erik alone.

“You know, you’d probably have a challenge in killing Azazel,” Charles said, confirming that he had been lurking in Erik’s mind. “He’d just pop off when you start attacking.”

“How would you kill him, then?” Erik asked, sighing at the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to keep Charles out of his head for any extended period of time. He stepped down from the stage and started walking back home, waiting for Charles to catch up.

“I’d freeze him. Keep him in place and make him forget how to breathe,” he finally answered when he caught up. Erik turned sharply to look at him, impressed.

“Not everyone has that ability.” he replied.

“I can’t think of any way to kill him without the use of my ability,” Charles retorted, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to keep up with Erik’s already slow pace. Erik slowed even further in response, stopping while Charles gathered himself and refused to look at Erik, embarrassed by the fact that his body was failing him.

“Don’t doubt other people.” Erik said wryly, responding to Charles’ angry reply from the moment before. “I’m sure you’ll find yourself disappointed if you do.”

Charles shrugged, not responding. He was too busy focusing on staying upright. Erik was tempted to offer help, but stepped back when Charles caught the thought and glared at him. They finished their journey back in absolute silence. Erik almost wanted Charles to say something. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting!


	10. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles thinks Erik needs to be more patient. Also, murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are at the end of the chapter.

Rather than pacing in his shop, Erik had taken to pacing in Charles’. It was easier than bringing Charles up to the shop and stranding him there while Erik walked maddeningly across the squeaking floorboards.

“You know, you could stop pacing. Maybe help make some pies. God knows I’m not doing something right.” Charles was perching on his stool and leaning on the counter, resting his chin in his hand as he watched Erik stalking about.

“He said he’d be here before the week was out.” Erik stopped pacing and glared at Charles. He resumed his gait a moment later.

“It’s only Tuesday, you’ve got all of those days left.” Charles didn’t move, save for his eyes, tracking the fluid motion of Erik’s unhindered legs with only slight envy.

“I want him here now,” Erik growled.

“And what happens if you do succeed in killing him? It’ll only send Shaw after you, and you know what he can do. You have to plan it more. Wait a little bit.”

Erik paused, thought about it, and shook his head. He grumbled something about sweet revenge under his breath.

“Erik, are you listening at all? You need to wait and plan; you need to think everything through.” Erik ignored him.

“Okay, fine,” huffed Charles, “But what happens when you lash out and get yourself killed before you can do anything to stop him? You have to plan. Wait.”

Erik continued grumbling and pacing. Charles resisted the urge to freeze him in place, knowing that he would lose his only friend if he did. He wanted Erik to like him back- more than like, if he was being honest. He changed tactics instead.

“You know, if you’re going to get anyone up there to shave them, you should do something to brighten up the room.” Erik finally stopped, looking at Charles curiously. “I mean it. Flowers. Or something. Have you considered daisies? Just to dress the place up.” Erik shook his head.

“I have to kill Shaw.”

“Can you do anything besides thinking about your revenge? All you do is sit here and brood about blood. It’s so messy,” Charles grumbled, flicking a bug off of his counter. “Honestly Erik, time moves so fast, it’ll all be over before you know it. And all of the fun is in planning anyway.”

Erik shook his head again, resuming his pacing.

“All good things come to those who can wait,” sing-songed Charles before he caught sight of another bug crawling onto the counter. Annoyed, Charles squished it with his rolling pin.

“I’ve got it,” he said suddenly, eyes lighting up. Erik looked to Charles, intrigued and almost manic.

“You do?”

“We’ll put gillyflowers in your shop. That’ll do it,” he said, proud of himself. Erik groaned.

The door to the pie shop opened suddenly, and both men were distracted by the fact that someone had come into the shop of his own free will. Erik relaxed when he saw that it was Sean. He released the razor he had grabbed almost unconsciously.

“Oh, Mr. Lehnsherr, I’m glad I’ve found you,” Sean said with a grin. He pushed his messy hair out of his face before continuing. “I need your help.”

“You do?” Erik was doubtful.

“Yes, there’s this girl I’ve met, she’s wonderful. But she’s a prisoner in her home and she can’t get out, but I can help her escape and we can be married-”

“Slow down, who is this you’re talking about?” Charles cut through Sean’s excited chatter, and Sean realized someone else was in the room.

“Pardon me, sir.” He nodded to Charles, who practically preened when addressed as  _ sir _ , before turning back to Erik. “This girl, she’s Judge Shaw’s ward. Her name is Anya and we’ve been talking… We’re going to try to run away together. Elope.”

_ How does this boy know your daughter? _ Charles asked Erik, who shook his head slightly.

“You met- this girl, she’ll go with you?” Erik corrected himself mid-sentence. There was an idea sparking in the back of his mind, something that could draw Shaw out of the shadows and bring him right to the shop, and Erik would get his daughter back. Sean nodded vigorously, grinning.

“And I’ll be able to get her down from the window and get us aboard a ship, the first ship out whenever we go.” He was exciting, hands flying through the air as he gestured about while talking.

“Oh, you’re clever,” Charles cut in, watching Sean intently. “To break the glass like that.” He narrowed his eyes at the redhead. Erik rolled his.

“What? How?” Sean spluttered in confusion.

“You think almost as loudly as you talk. No need to worry about hiding your ability around me.” Charles grinned. It was almost predatory. “People’ve found they’re quite bad at hiding anything from me.”

“Get out of the boy’s head,” Erik growled at Charles, on the verge of reprimanding him, though he was more amused than anything else. There was a hint of fondness in his tone as well, it surprised him.

“Oh, okay,” Sean looked between Charles and Erik. He blinked slowly as he figured out that Charles could read his mind. “When I go to arrange things, can I bring Anya here? Just for a little while? We need somewhere safe, and, well…” Sean shrugged. “You told me once I could come see you here. It wouldn’t be long, I wouldn’t want to impose. We’re taking the first ship out. Tonight.”

“Of course you can,” Charles answered for Erik. “She can stay in the rooms behind the shop. It wouldn’t be a bother at all; it’s quiet back there. You won’t be disturbed, not even by me.”

_ Of course you won’t disturb them, you can’t get into any of your rooms because they have steps, _ Erik thought at Charles while keeping his eyes on Sean.  _ How are you going to show her to them? _

_ You are, obviously. _ Charles’ mental tone sounded bitter.  _ I’m not going to get in the way of your reuniting. _

_ No, I’m sure you’ll sit in that armchair you sleep in instead and act all dignified.  _ Erik retorted. Aloud, he agreed with Charles.

“She can come here,” Erik confirmed, saying nothing of his own motives.

“Thank you, thank you,” Sean grinned, trying to hold back a small whoop of joy. Breaking another window was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I’d appreciate that, windows are expensive.” Charles replied absentmindedly, mental fingers still probing through Sean's mind.

“Right, then,” Sean nodded, still a little confused by Charles. “I’ll return soon, when I know more. I don’t think I’ll be more than an hour. Until then.” he said in farewell, bowing to Erik and Charles, before slipping out the door with a spring in his step.

_ He seems nice, _ Charles thought at Erik while yawning.

_ He rescued me, _ Erik replied.

_ I know, _ Charles sounded smug. Erik sighed, resuming his pacing.

“Of course you do,” Erik replied aloud to Charles, who in turn glanced up, forehead wrinkled in confusion. In the past days, Erik had warmed up to conversing mentally. He almost preferred keeping their conversations private.

“Are they walking here?” Charles changed the subject as he looked out the window at two approaching figures, obscured by the smoke that filled the air.  Erik glanced out the window.

“You’re a mind reader, why don’t you find out?” he sneered.

“It would appear to be Mystique, whose mind is exceptionally well-shielded,” Charles admitted, displeased that he could not read the other barber. “Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t seem to want me to know.”

“Imagine that,” Erik replied, as if the suggestion of someone wanting their thoughts private was a revolutionary concept. “And the smaller blue one?”

“They’re coming here,” Charles said a moment later, tone victorious as he read all of Hank's thoughts. The door opened and they stepped in.

“Mister Lehnsherr,” Mystique greeted, bowing low, sweeping his large fur coat over his shoulder to keep it from hitting the floor. “A Good-a day to you, sir.” Erik crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting for Mystique to continue. Seeming unused to such treatment, Mystique straightened. “I would-a appreciate-a a moment to speak-a with you in-a your shop.” he crossed his arms, mirroring Erik, daring him to say no.

Erik nodded once, moving past Mystique to push open the door to the pie shop. Mystique turned to follow.

“Can the boy stay here? I’ll give him a pie,” Charles asked the retreating men. Mystique paused, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes at Hank before flicking his gaze to Charles.

“Si, si, whatever. I don’t give-a a shit.”

As they walked out into the street, Erik glanced back to Charles, who was focusing on Hank, no doubt reading further into the boy’s mind.

“Well, I hope you’ve got good teeth,” he finally said to the teen, looking nervous. Erik turned away from the shop to go up the stairs. He could feel Mystique’s eyes boring into his back. He hoped the other barber didn’t have powers that involved melting things with his eyes.

They stepped into the shop and Erik took a few steps toward a small stove in the corner. He set a kettle to boil, avoiding using his powers as he set the cast iron onto the stove before crossing to the middle of the room. He stared at Mystique, who was hovering near the door.

“Well?” Erik raised one eyebrow, waiting. Mystique slung the fur off, tossing it onto the trunk in the opposite corner of the room, and took a single step forward.

“What a shithole this place turned into,” Mystique’s accent was gone again, though this time, it was no accident. “Used to be so busy. And clean.” the disgust was clear in his tone.

“What do you want?” Erik growled, narrowing his eyes.

“I want my money back. You entered that bet under false pretenses. You cheated and smeared my name,” Mystique replied, matching Erik's glare.

“It sounds like I’m not the only liar in the room,” Erik crossed his arms, standing his ground. Mystique barked a single laugh, shaking his head.

“Of course, you wouldn’t remember me,” And suddenly, Mystique was changing. Blue scales shimmered across his body, disappearing as quickly as they appeared. His eyes flashed gold for a moment, and then they were green. Mystique was smaller, thinner; paler- he had become someone else. Even the outfit had changed, from the garish purple ensemble to too-large pants and a shirt, topped with a small hat pulled over the eyes. Erik swallowed, one eye twitching as several emotions overtook him at once, none of them positive. Mystique took no notice of Erik’s reaction.

“Look familiar now?” Mystique chirped, voice young and chipper. “I’m just here to work for you Mr. Eisenhardt.” He begged, tone pathetic. He rolled his eyes at Erik’s silence before shifting once again. This time, his skin stayed blue while his eyes turned gold, and the hair grew bright red. And, if Erik was right, he looked more feminine? Was Mystique a woman?

Erik didn’t actually care what gender Mystique was. Nonetheless he stared, taken aback by the intricate blue scales all across her body. He was only given a moment to appreciate the powers she had before she started talking again.

“Didn’t think you’d remember me, you only hired me to sweep up after you for a week or so before getting rid of me. Then when I came back again as a girl, you refused to hire me and kicked me out,” Mystique said as she stepped forward, her angry gaze boring into Erik.

“No hard feelings, you were doing well enough on your own. Anyway,” she continued, turning and walking to the barber's chair in the center of the room, to inspect it. The chair was brown and dusty, untouched for more than a decade. She kicked it out of spite, seeming to enjoy the control she had over the situation. Erik seethed behind her, rage flowing through him, the same rage he had become accustomed to feeling whenever he thought about Shaw.  “We were discussing your lying.”

“Were we?” Erik asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You’ve been doing the talking.”

“You know, you’re only making this harder on yourself,” Mystique looked over her shoulder to Erik. “This is your fault, Maxie. You’re supposed to be gone from London forever. Dead and all that.”

“Why are you here?” Erik asked, turning to watch Mystique warily. He kept one hand pressed against his leg where a razor lay nestled in his pocket.

“Well, considering you’ve come back and intend on starting up business again, we’re going to need to come up with some kind of compromise. I can’t have you taking all my customers, and I’m sure you’d like to maintain whatever veil of anonymity you’ve got going on there,” she gestured at Erik, making a small  _ pfff _ noise, amused by whatever it was he was doing.

“Let me put it simple-like,” she put her hands on her hips and faced Erik fully. “I want half of your earnings.”

To his left, the kettle started to whistle.

***

In the shop below, Charles reached for a tray of pies. He held it in one hand, starting to turn to offer one to Hank, when he lost his balance and dropped the tray as he braced himself on the counter. The tray landed on the ground with a dull thud that echoed through the restaurant. Most of the pies rolled off of the tray, disappearing under cabinets and the table.

Charles leaned against the counter in annoyance and closed his eyes. Hank ran over to collect the pies, putting them on the tray and setting it to the counter. He stepped back, looking at them with hungry eyes. Charles rubbed his forehead and opened his eyes, looking tiredly at Hank. He wanted Erik’s distinct lack of pity instead of the look he was currently receiving.

“Just take some. I was getting the tray for you,” Charles said. He sat on his stool, watching Hank dart forward to take several of the pies before retreating to the small table in the corner to eat them. “You can take off that wig too, I know it’s itching you.” Hank’s head shot up, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I- no- it’s,” the teen stuttered, blinking rapidly. He gave up with a sigh and pulled the long blue tresses from his shoulders, throwing the wig to the bench. “It smells. Mystique made me paint it blue.” Hank complained finally. “How did you know?”

_ You were thinking about it. Loudly, I might add, _ Charles tapped his temple, grinning.  _ Couldn’t help but overhear. _

“You too?” Hank’s eyes widened. “I thought it was just me and Mystique.”

“Mystique?” Charles asked aloud, curious. “What can he do?”

***

“If you give me half of what you make, I’ll make sure that the beadle and Shaw never find out how you’ve snuck in right under their noses. And we’ll both carry on as usual,” Mystique stepped closer as she spoke, and now she pressed herself against Erik. Her breath was hot on his neck.

The kettle was coming to a boil in the corner.

If she was trying to seduce Erik, she was not succeeding. White-hot rage within his chest threatened to boil over. He all but trembled with the effort of holding still, as shame and rage flooded through him. The rage threatened to overtake him any moment.

“Oh, don’t frown like that, Max,” she purred, stepping back. “Or should I say-” she started. She stopped talking while she transformed, blue scales flashing across her skin until she once again resembled the Mystique that Erik had first encountered in the market.

The kettle whistled once more.

“How does that sound-a, Mr. Erik Lehnsherr?” she asked, the accent in place again, leaning in close. Erik’s vision went red, and he focused on the rage.

He reacted with his powers and the kettle twitched from its place in the corner. It rose above the stove and flew across the room, crunching into the back of Mystique's skull. She fell, a small ‘o’ of surprise frozen on her face.

***

“Mystique is blue too,” Hank said, excitement washing from him in waves. Charles’ eyes widened as he saw the images of Mystique in her natural form flitting across Hank’s mind.

“Really now?” he asked softly, fascinated but nervous for Erik’s safety.

A small thump echoed upstairs and Charles’ eyes flicked upwards as he scanned Erik’s mind. When he saw Mystique on the floor, Charles panicked and withdrew. He knocked over the first thing he saw, thinking that loud noises in his shop would distract from the noises upstairs. The rolling pin fell to the floor, effectively covering another thumping sound.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” he looked at Hank. “Would you mind picking that up for me?” Hank shook his head, flying across the shop to pick up the fallen rolling pin. As he knelt, a small pocket watch fell out from some hiding spot in his outfit and hit the floor. Hank caught it before it could hit the ground, glancing at the time.

“Oh, Mystique has an appointment, he’s got to go shave someone really important!” he cried. “If we’re late, she’ll do something awful.” he started to run for the door.

“No, Hank, it’s fine, stay here-” Charles called after him, panicking. He tried to stand, to chase Hank, but his legs refused to cooperate.

Desperately, he pressed two fingers to his temple.

_ Erik, Hank is coming up now. Hide Mystique _ .

***

As soon as the kettle made contact with the back of her head, Erik dropped to his knees. He opened one hand and the kettle flew into it, while he braced his free hand on the floor. His vision blurred and he was only dimly aware that he was slamming the kettle into Mystique's face over and over again. When she lost consciousness, the false appearance disappeared and the scales flickered across her body once more. Erik found that her blood was still red, as it covered his sleeves and flew into his face. The rest pooled into the crater forming in her forehead.

When Charles’ panicked mental shout reached him, Erik froze, only hesitating for a second.

Then he was standing, scooping Mystique into his arms, tearing the trunk open by the hinges and dumping her body into it. He glanced around, scanning for anything he had missed. He threw the fur she had abandoned in the doorway on top of her, slamming the trunk with his powers.

He crossed to the stove in a few long strides, grabbing a jacket from the barber's chair and slipping it on as he walked. He stopped and held out his hand for the still-hissing kettle. It flew into his grip and he narrowed his eyes at it. It reshaped itself under his gaze.

He exhaled in relief, sending a small  _ all clear _ to Charles. The whole ordeal had lasted less than ten seconds. He grabbed a cup and began pouring water into it as the bell above the door tinkled as it flew open.

“Mystique, you’re going to be-” Hank paused, looking around in confusion, pushing his glasses up his nose. Erik did not look up, acutely aware that there was blood on his face. He put the kettle down and ran his hand over his face in a lame attempt to wipe the evidence away.

“Signor Mystique has gone on to his appointment,” he said to the mug in his hand. He wiped his face again, brushing away imaginary sweat and real blood before turning, opening his stance enough for him to look at Hank. “I doubt he’ll be back. Why don’t you go back to Charles? I’m sure you’re still hungry.” Hank glanced around again, stepping back to lean against the trunk, facing Erik.

“I’ll stay. Mystique likes to beat me when things go wrong, and then he takes away my books and doesn’t let me read or study afterward,” he said.

Erik looked past Hank, his eyes widening as he saw blue fingers poking out of the trunk. They curled weakly, holding onto the edge. Erik stepped closer to Hank.

“Why don’t you go downstairs, then? Have another pie while you wait. I’m sure there’s room for another?” His tone turned sweet, taunting Hank, trying to lure him away. Hank hesitated, wanting to.

“I’m sure that that’ll make Charles happy,” Erik continued.

“He’s nice,” Hank smiled now, though it was a shy one.

“He is. He’s the nicest person I know,” Erik crouched down, making himself the same height as the teen. “What if you tell him that I said that you that you could have some gin?” Hank’s eyes lit up and he nodded, bolting and running down the stairs.

Erik stayed behind, rubbing his head in confusion as he realized that Charles really was the best person he knew. He didn’t want to like anybody, it would distract from his revenge. But Charles was the exception.

***

Charles sighed, mentally piggybacking on Erik and Hank’s conversation. He perked up when he heard his name only to sigh when he heard the word  _ gin _ . He put one hand on the counter, the other searching underneath for gin. He grasped a bottle and plunked it down so it would be ready for Hank, who bounded in a moment later.

“Mist-” he started, only for Charles to cut him off.

“I know, I was listening,” Charles reminded Hank, tapping his temple again. “Fetch yourself a glass?” Charles mentally nudged Hank in the right direction, all the while keeping his eyes on the ceiling, almost as if he could see through it to watch Erik.

Hank retrieved and slammed down two glasses, having grabbed one for Charles as well. Charles smiled at Hank and poured him a glass, his own staying empty.

“You’ve had gin before,” Charles observed as Hank drank it down.

“They used to give it to me to make me sleep,” Hank mumbled, embarrassed. “When I was in the orphanage, before Mystique rescued me. She picked me because we’re both blue.” though he spoke sadly of his past, something about Mystique seemed to cheer him up.

“Well, that’s nice,” Charles smiled, reaching forward to take back the bottle. A furry blue one swatted his away.

“Leave that there.” Hank growled, almost menacing, and Charles nodded, withdrawing his hand. The teen yawned a moment later and blinked.

“I’ve half a mind to go see what Erik’s up to,” Charles said aloud, slipping off the stool. He stumbled as soon as he stood, his legs not supporting him. The only things keeping him upright were the pair of braces and the crutch Charles settled onto. As his legs refused to cooperate with every step, Charles moved toward the door.

***

As soon as Hank left, Erik melted the lock on the door, ensuring that he would be alone. A small groan slipped through the trunk, and Erik whipped his head to the side, keeping his face composed as he nodded at the trunk to open it. He crossed the room in silence.

He could feel the razor in his pocket bumping against his leg with every step he took.

Erik stopped in front of the trunk, bending at the waist to examine Mystique. She stared at him, golden eyes not completely open, bordering on unconsciousness. Erik sighed in annoyance and grabbed her by her hair, pulling her upright as he stepped to the side. He held her close and summoned the razor to his hand, relishing the quiet  _ swish _ of it flicking open.

He pressed the razor to her neck and pushed it in, shoving it through muscles and tendons until her jugular tore and blood gushed free. Erik gritted his teeth as he dragged the razor across her skin, severing everything he came into contact with in a jagged line. He let the body fall forward once there was nothing more to slice through. He stepped back, dripping blood, and looked at his hands.

The razor was already dull. It was meant for cleaner work than what had just transpired. Erik stared at it, reshaping it again with his powers, when Charles made himself heard.

_ Would you mind giving me a lift? _ Charles asked, projecting an image of himself from his position at the bottom of the stairs as he leaned on his crutch.  _ I know what you’ve been up to, there’s no use hiding it from me _ .

Erik sighed, fixing the lock and opening the door, poking his head out to watch as he lifted Charles up the stairs. Charles nodded tersely at Erik, the closest thing Erik would get to a thanks. He looked at the trunk and sighed a little.

“You really had to kill the first person who came into your shop?” Charles wasn’t sad, more resigned to the cleanup that was coming. He hobbled forward, attempting to peer into the open trunk.

“She recognized me from before,” Erik replied. Charles looked sharply over his shoulder at Erik, surprised. He had somehow missed that important tidbit. He glanced into the trunk.

“I know her,” he realized, turning to face Erik. “Not well, granted, we’ve run into each other before.”

“I'd wager that you've run into her many times,” Erik crossed his arms. “Mystique was only the most recent of her appearances, it seems.”

“I caught her in my kitchen when we were children, she was trying to steal food. I was so surprised to find that I wasn’t alone in having powers that I invited her to stay with me,” Charles sounded almost sad when he said it, as he stared down at her corpse. “She hit me over the head and disappeared with most of the food from the pantry.” He shrugged; reaching down to snag a coin purse that had fallen from the fur coat. “Her loss, then.”

Erik stood by, watching, waiting for Charles to do something.

“How are we supposed to handle this?” Charles half-turned, looking at Erik with one eyebrow raised. Erik shrugged. Charles rolled his eyes and struggled to turn the rest of the way so that he was facing Erik.

“We have to do something, you know,” Charles frowned. Erik shrugged again, nodding at the trunk, which slammed shut.

“What is there to do?” He asked, stepping close to Charles, who looked up at Erik, blue eyes searching for any readable expression on Erik’s face. Finding none, he slipped into Erik’s mind and only found exhaustion, shadowed by the lingering traces of rage and pain that had driven him.

Charles reached up to cradle Erik’s face in his hand, surprised when Erik allowed the gesture, leaning wearily into it.

“Oh, my friend,” Charles tilted his head a little, mirroring Erik. He never finished his sentence, not having anything to say. Instead, they stood together for a long moment while Erik drank in Charles’ presence. Together they relaxed into something almost as dangerous as Erik’s schemes for revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for murder. A character is beat with a teapot and then has their throat slit.


	11. Pretty Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets his first shot at revenge.

Across town, Shaw left the courthouse, still buoyed by the day he’d had. Another criminal would go to the gallows, and he would marry Anya. Azazel popped out of the building, arriving at the Judge’s side to walk next to him.

“I have good news for you, Azazel,” Shaw kept his gaze straight, focusing on the road, while the corner of his mouth pulled up into a victorious grin. “So that I may preserve her from the cruelties of the world, I’ve decided to marry my beloved Anya.”

“Many congratulations,” Azazel bowed his head to Shaw. “And is the bride happy?”

“She did seem hesitant when I told her,” Shaw paused and looked at Azazel, confused. “When I offered myself to her, she seemed almost disturbed.” Azazel looked Shaw up and down.

“Sir, might I speak?” Shaw nodded, and they started forward again.

“You are a mess, sir. There is powder on your vest and stubble on your cheeks,” Azazel said, gesturing to Shaw's bedraggled appearance. Shaw blinked, taken aback, as he ran his hands over his chin, considering Azazel’s words.

“Do you have a point, Azazel?” He stopped again, stepping in front of Azazel, blocking his path.

“Da,” Azazel bowed, swishing his tail and glancing up at Shaw. “Women are weak.”

“How so?” Shaw asked, now intrigued.

“You must clean yourself up. Make yourself presentable. Woo her, and then Anya will melt in your arms,” He flicked Shaw’s coat with his tail for emphasis, sending crumbs flying to the sidewalk.

“I see,” Shaw murmured. “I suppose I could do with a shave.”

“I know just the place,” Azazel replied, describing the events of Erik’s victory over Mystique. “I will take you now, if you please.” he concluded.

Shaw nodded, still contemplating the words. Azazel offered his arm to Shaw, who took it. One puff of smoke later, they were standing in front of the decrepit building that housed Erik and Charles.

***

Charles and Erik had drifted closer in the few minutes they’d been standing there. Charles had leaned into Erik at some point, when he could no longer stand without help. Erik had wrapped his arms around Charles’ waist to hold him up, and they had stayed still after that.

Until Charles tensed in Erik’s arms, going rigid.

_ Shaw is in the shop, _ Charles said, too exhausted to say aloud, but terrified nonetheless.  _ We need to go down there. _

The kettle in the corner crumpled, collapsing in on itself. Charles glanced to it, concern written on his face, before he looked up at Erik, who was staring at the wall, expression stony.

“Let’s go, then,” Erik replied hoarsely. He let go of Charles to pull open the door and stumbled out. He waited for Charles, levitating the other man down the stairs in front of him.

Charles entered the shop first, mumbling excuses as he limped by Shaw, who stood in the road sneering at the sign, and a moment later, Charles. Erik stopped in front of the shop, gazing at Shaw, mere feet away from the man who had destroyed his life.

“Are you here for a shave, sir?” Erik asked, forcing politeness. Shaw looked him over once, disinterested.

“I am. Are you the Lehnsherr that Azazel spoke of?” Erik nodded, gesturing stiffly, encouraging Shaw to follow him up to the shop. They ascended in silence, Erik holding the door for Shaw, who gave no sign of recognition.

“What a sad place,” Shaw observed, stepping to the chair in the middle of the room. He frowned at the small layer of dust on the chair before stepping to examine the razors laid out on the table. “You see sir, I’m a busy man and I’ve got important business to tend to later.”

“Oh?” Erik asked, stepping forward, letting the door swing shut, gritting his teeth. “What kind of business?”

“Love,” Shaw glanced up at Erik, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been told to clean myself up. So, get whatever it is you use, cologne and the razors and all that and give me a good shave.” The authority in his tone, coupled with the smugness radiating from his figure was enough to nauseate Erik. Shaw sat in the chair, crossing his legs and watching Erik, waiting to be waited on.

“Of course,” Erik spit, forcing himself to whistle cheerfully as he approached Shaw. He picked up the razors by hand, hesitant about using his powers. He would not have his revenge ruined by Shaw recognizing him. “The closest shave I ever gave.”

Shaw closed his eyes, relaxing into the seat. Erik found a sheet to drape over his body, turning his back to the judge while it settled into place.

“You seem awfully… chipper,” Shaw remarked.

“It’s your energy, sir. It’s inspiring,” Erik replied, grinding his teeth behind Shaw.

“Ah.  Love is inspirational,” Shaw shifted. “I’m getting married, you know.”

“Of course,” Erik replied, sharpening his razors by hand.

“What more can I need?” Shaw asked.

“More than love?” Erik finished sharpening the razor and put them down, exchanging them for the lather on the table.

“More than love,” Shaw confirmed, pursing his lips as Erik spread the mixture over his face. Erik thought about it for a moment.

“I’d say women,” Erik finally replied, eyes glued to the pale expanse of Shaw's throat. Shaw hummed in agreement, oblivious to the tension rolling from Erik in waves.

“Ah, yes. Pretty women,” Shaw exhaled.

_ Enjoy this. No hasty revenge _ , Erik thought, gaze shifting to the razor in his hand. He turned away, using the light filtering through the window to admire his blades.

“If your work is good you’ll be commended,” Shaw sat up a little and Erik whirled, bowing his head.

“Of course, my lord.” he replied, trying to slow his suddenly panicked breathing. Shaw nodded to himself and leaned back, eyes slipping closed. “Who, if I may ask, will you be marrying?”

“My ward,” Shaw smiled to himself, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke. Erik wanted nothing more than to push his razor straight through it, to stop the thing in its path up and down beneath the pale skin of Shaw’s throat. “What a pretty woman she’s become.”

“Like her mother?” Erik hissed under his breath. Shaw missed Erik’s response, settling back in his seat instead.

“Pretty women are a wonder, if you think about it,” Erik continued, drawing the razor across Shaw’s cheek, slicing away the wiry hairs. He stepped around Shaw, forcing himself to relax and keep the other man relaxed. It would be easier to kill him if he didn’t see it coming.

“Yes,” Shaw replied through pursed lips, keeping his face still. “Watching them sitting in their windows.”

“Sipping their drinks,” Erik suggested, wiping away a spare fleck of the lather. “Or something else.”

“Something marvelous,” Shaw agreed.

“They warm the air,” Erik swallowed, not thinking about pretty women at all. His thoughts dwelled on the bright blue eyes waiting nervously in the shop below.

“Indeed,”

“Even when they’re gone, something about them still stays with you,” Erik’s thoughts flickered to Magda before settling back on Charles. The moment was enough to remind him of his purpose and Erik lowered the razor, holding it above Shaw’s neck, steeling himself.

“Pretty Women,” Shaw murmured again, drowsy, and Erik held the blade a hair’s width away from the throat, ready to push it through.

The door opened and Sean burst in. Erik jumped back, eyebrows lowering.

“Erik! I’ve just spoken with Anya and-” Sean exhaled in a rush, excited, freezing when he laid eyes on Shaw.

Shaw’s eyes opened and he sat up, bristling. “You again?” he whirled to face Erik, who bowed his head.

“You know this boy?” Erik didn’t respond, focusing instead on the floorboards. Shaw vibrated with anger.

“You think you can steal my Anya away from me?” he faced Sean again. “There must be some higher power then, to deliver this information to me.” Shaw whipped the sheet from his body and wiped the remaining lather from his face, leaving him half-shaven. He crumpled up the sheet and threw it at Erik, stomping to the door. Shaw pushed Sean out of the way, the kinetic energy he had stored away leaving him as Sean flew into the trunk, collapsing in a small heap.

“I hope you have your own customers, because you’ll have none of mine,” Shaw growled, slamming the door behind him as he went. In the corner, Sean coughed, pushing himself upright, leaning heavily on the trunk.

“Erik, I am so, so sor-” again, he was unable to finish his sentence.

“GET OUT,” Erik roared, striding across the room, grabbing Sean by the collar, and throwing him out the door. Sean ran down the stairs, disappearing somewhere. Erik flew down the stairs, slamming into Charles’ shop.


	12. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has an idea.

“I had him,” Erik said without preamble, entering the shop. He crossed to the counter and slammed his hands down on it, aware that Charles had been following everything. The razor glinted in his hand, sparkling against the dull counter.

“Erik,” Charles warned, straightening opposite him.

“The razor was against his throat, I was about to murder him, and now he’s never coming back,” Erik curled his fingers into fists. He pounded the counter top in frustration.

“Erik, calm down,” Charles said, trying to push the sensation of calm onto Erik, who ignored it. “Stop trying to rush this, you’ll have another chance.”

“You told me that I could wait and he’s not coming back,” Erik leaned forward until his face was inches from Charles'. “Have you ever considered that the world is a pit that’s filled with shit, and we’re all living in it?”

“Um,” Charles looked uncomfortable.

“And we all deserve to die,” Erik tightened his grip around the razor in his hand. “You and me and everyone else in this pathetic little world.”

“Erik,” he murmured, eyes going wide, nervous.

“Look at us Charles,” Erik growled. “There’s two kinds of people in the world and we’re in the worst of it. You’re either in your place or you’re there disrupting someone else’s and it doesn’t even matter because you’re going to die anyway. Even you. And me. All of us. The wicked need to go, and then we’ll greet death ourselves.”

“Erik,” Charles said again, tone urgent, hesitating as he read Erik’s mind. Erik growled, throwing all his rage and heartbreak at Charles, who reeled backwards, almost falling off of his seat. He gripped the counter, knuckles white, and his eyes squeezed shut as he righted himself. Erik stepped back, removing his weight from the counter and squaring his shoulders. He watched as Charles released his grip on the counter.

“I’m not going to see Anya again, I realize that now,” he spun away, crossing to the window and looking out. I’m never going to hold her in my arms. It’s alright.” he narrowed his eyes at the people walking in front of the shop, smiling, walking, acting as if their worlds weren’t crashing down around them.

“I could give that one a shave,” he nodded his chin at a man who had no hair whatsoever on his face. “Or that one. Whoever will bleed the most. That’ll be good.”

“What?” Charles asked behind Erik, confused. Erik turned on his heels.

“I’m going to kill Shaw. But first I’m going to practice on whoever comes into my shop. Magda’s dead, Anya’s gone, but my revenge is still alive,” he grinned, expression feral.

“Erik,” Charles looked pained.

“And I’m alive. And oh, so happy,” Erik grinned, laughing, crossing back to the counter. As soon as he rested his weight on the counter, he sagged, exhausted. The change was unnatural and he looked to Charles in confusion. Charles stared back, lowering two shaking fingers from his temple.

“You weren’t calming down,” Charles said, not apologizing, folding his hands on the counter. Erik looked at Charles, taking in the tears dried on the other man’s face, lips raw where Charles had chewed them.

“What?” he asked intelligently.

“They’re gone,” Charles said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. "They're gone."

“Your legs,” Erik realized, and then asked, “You’re sure?”

Charles nodded, swiping at his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Can’t feel a thing. I couldn't move before, and, and... That was it,”

“Well,” Erik replied, sighing. “Is there gin?”

“Only what Hank didn’t drink,” Charles said, projected the image of Hank snoring in the back room, bottle clutched in his hands. Erik nodded, stepping past Charles, and into the room where Charles lived.

Hank sat curled up in the armchair Charles usually slept in, with the bottle of gin cuddled close to his chest. Erik pried it free and brought it back, filling the two glasses Charles set out. They tossed back their drinks and sat in silence. Erik studied the glass while Charles fiddled with the metal on his legs.

“I suppose these are useless now,” Charles mused, poking at the braces again. "They're not going to help me at all."

Erik nodded his agreement, still staring at the counter. He reached out with his powers to free Charles' legs from them. The clasps popped loudly and clanged to the floor. Charles sighed again.

_ I’ll make you a wheelchair. It’ll be nicer than something you’d have to buy _ , Erik thought at Charles, too tired to speak. The baker nodded his thanks.

_ Thank you, my friend. _

  



	13. A Little Priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has an idea.

They fell into silence again. Neither of them said anything for several minutes while Charles poked at his legs.

_ We’ll have to do something about Mystique, won’t we? _ Charles asked. Erik grunted his agreement. They both sighed again and went quiet.

_ I’ll go bury her somewhere after it gets dark, _ Erik figured, sending the thought to Charles.

"Hm," Charles hummed aloud, still sharing his thoughts with Erik.

_ You know, she had quite a bit of meat on her bones. Such a waste. Damned shame, _ Charles thought. Erik looked up at him, one eyebrow quirked.

_ Business could use a lift… And it couldn’t get traced… It’s a gift, almost, _ He continued, before pausing again. Erik’s remaining eyebrow rose on his forehead, joining the first. He wasn't sure why Charles was including him.

_ And meat is so expensive, if you get what I’m saying,  _ Charles finished _. _

Rather than sharing his next thought, Charles waited a moment, lips pulling into a smile when Erik lit up with a quiet, enlightened ‘ _ Ah _ ’.

_ Glad you’ve figured it out, _ Charles spilled some flour on the counter, tracing patterns in it with one finger.  _ Now, if Moira down the street uses cats in her sandwiches, that can’t be good for more than seven or so… _ he trailed off mentally, his thoughts swirling into mental debate about taste, keeping Erik in the loop.

_ What a practical idea, _ Erik replied, warming up to the notion.  _ I wonder how I’ve lived without you and these clever ideas for so many years. _

Charles looked up at him, grinning, eyes bright.

“It will be delicious. And nobody will know,” Charles said aloud, laughing.

“And people are always in need of a good shave,” Erik walked around the counter, practically waltzing.

A moment later, the two were dancing around the shop, Erik doing all the work as he held Charles. Charles held Erik tightly, his arms wrapped around Erik’s neck while his feet rested on top of Erik’s. Erik held Charles’ waist, stepping carefully so that the other man’s feet stayed on top of his. They waltzed in slow circles, celebrating.

_ Do you hear that sound? _ Erik asked, glancing out the window.

_ Of course, _ Charles grinned at Erik, taking advantage of his position to look Erik in the eye for once.

_ It’s man devouring man out there _ …

_ Well then, who are we to deny it in here? _

One of them laughed, and the other joined in as they twirled around the shop once more before Erik let Charles go. He helped him into one of the seats near the window.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Erik said, crossing the shop to examine the pies in the oven. “What are these?”

“Priest,” Charles answered immediately, laughing. “Try one, it’s  _ too _ good.”

Erik turned away from the oven, grabbing a stool to sit next to Charles. They looked out the window.

“But then again, they’re fairly fresh. Their 'No sins of the flesh' promise, and whatnot,” Charles finished.

“Awfully full of fat,” Erik leaned forward, looking out at the street. He rested his elbows on his knees and scanned the road. “What about poet?” he asked, watching someone scribbling in a journal across the street.

“Poets are tricky. I can never tell if they've finally died or not. Stick with the priest, darling.” Charles smirked, slipping the endearment in at the end. He crossed his arms, watching outside.

“Lawyer might be nice,” Erik mused, watching three people arguing across the way, arms waving above their heads.

“I could charge an awful lot for that,” Charles agreed.

“Serve them something else right after, nobody should have to deal with that. How about something leaner?” Erik quipped.

“Well, there’s Marine,” Charles pointed. “If you’re feeling particularly loyal to the queen.”

“But that’ll taste of everywhere he’s been,” Erik grinned wickedly. “What’s cooking now? Squire?”

“No, look closer Erik, it’s grocer,” Charles pouted.

“Are you sure? Could be the vicar,” Erik stared at Charles’ pouting lips, distracted.

“Erik, it’s the grocer. It’s green,” Charles rolled his eyes and shook his head.  _ Dance with me again? _

Erik nodded, standing close and bowing his head so Charles could wrap his arms around the barber’s neck.

“Think about it. The poor have always served the rich. We can change that,” Erik said, straightening, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist and holding him close.

“We’d save plenty of room in the graveyards,” Charles grinned, staring into Erik’s eyes. “And you just said everybody shaves. Think of the variety we'll have.” Erik nodded; making sure Charles’ feet wouldn’t slip. Then they were dancing again.

“Isn’t it nice to know that those from above will serve those from below?” Erik asked, spinning them slowly.

“Of course it is,” Charles only wanted a certain shark.

“I’ll make sure to stop in when you’ve got judge on the menu,” He glowered for a moment, thinking back to his near miss. “Keep your mind open Charles.”

“Oh, I’ll take all the customers that I can get. Then I'll send them up to you,” He replied immediately.

“Don’t discriminate,” Erik warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Charles retorted.

“We’ll serve anyone,” Erik mused.

“To anyone,” Charles finished. He closed the distance between his face and Erik’s, pressing their lips together.

Erik froze, hesitating before allowing himself to return the kiss. Something warm that he hadn’t felt since he married Magda bloomed in his chest. He had started feeling it every time he looked at Charles. His entire body felt as though it was burning.

Charles sensed the panic in Erik’s mind, the panic mixed with the lust that had been there since the beginning. He deepened the kiss before breaking away, grinning and out of breath.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” Charles exhaled, looking at Erik, whose face was stony.

“I think I have too,” Erik finally replied, studying Charles’ face intently. “I’m not letting you sleep in that old armchair anymore.”

“What?” Charles asked, confused.

“We’re going to bed,” Erik shifted his grip on Charles, snaking one arm under Charles' knees. He carried him bridal style to the long unused bedroom, where he forgot his revenge for a few hours.


	14. Anya (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean looks for Anya. Erik commits murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end.

Anya was packing what belongings she treasured into a valise when Shaw opened the door. His imposing frame filled the doorway.

“So, you do intend to escape,” Shaw stated, not bothering to question her.

“I want to leave here,” She spit, glaring at him. “I will not marry you.”

“Well then, you can leave. I’ve already made the arrangements,” Shaw crossed his arms and Anya straightened cautiously.

“I’m leaving?”

“You’re to go to Frost’s asylum until you learn your place and come back to your senses,” Shaw looked pained, as if it hurt him to say it, though the expression did not reach his eyes. “Emma will keep you safe.”

Azazel appeared in the room, wrapping his arms around Anya. She screamed and kicked out, to no avail as he took her outside.

Sean ran down the street, trying to make it back before Shaw. He froze when he saw the beadle, remembering belatedly that Shaw had him to rely on. Shaw was faster than him.

Sean saw Anya clutched in Azazel's arms, screaming.

“No!” He rushed forward, clearing his throat before yelling, trying to stop them. All down the road, windows shattered from the force of his sonic waves. Azazel flinched, pressed one hand to his head, and glared at Sean before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“I’ll find you!” Sean called desperately, his voice echoing in the now-empty street. “I promise I’ll find you and we’ll be together.” he fell to his knees, staring at the spot where Anya had just been.

“I’ll find you,” He repeated to himself, swearing that he would rescue her.

“I feel you. He can’t hide you. It’s like I’m already with you,” he looked down at the sidewalk, closing his eyes in despair.

***

Weeks passed. Charles shut down his shop while they renovated, preparing for a grand re-opening ceremony. Erik worked the entire time. There were several things that needed tending to before either of them could move forward.

Erik started with the wheelchair. Once Charles was mobile, they could work together on everything that would come next. Erik spent a few days studying wheelchairs, making sure he knew how everything worked before going out to steal scrap metal and fuse it all together.

The second Charles got into it and expressed his pleasure at being able to get around again, Erik moved upstairs to his shop. He took the same approach with the barber's chair. It was soon re-upholstered and lined with metal. Erik could bend it backwards with his powers, and whoever was in the chair would fall through a hole in the floor and land in the basement. It was a direct passage, and every victim landed next to Charles' meat grinder.

Charles, on his part, took Hank in, letting the teen stay with them. Soon, the armchair that Charles once slept became Hank's.  It filled with small tufts of blue fur as Hank made it his new bed. Charles liked Hank, liked how easy it was to slip into his mind and take hold of it.

Charles trained Hank, teaching him how to make pies and dispose of the bodies. Whenever Hank became suspicious, it was easy to smooth out his worries and erase whatever naysaying thoughts the teen had.

Charles figured that Hank didn’t need to know that the meat he used was human. He made sure that Hank didn’t. Charles cheered Hank on from his place in the shop while maintaining a firm but silent presence in the boy's mind. Hank had no idea how drastically Charles was changing his thoughts.

Though he was blind to the true nature of his work, Hank basked in the attention Charles gave him. He adored Charles, who never beat him and let him study whatever books he could get his hands on. And if he ever started to question anything, whether it be the supply of meat or the fact that Charles and Erik slept in the same bed, Charles was quick to reassure him, two of his fingers pressed to his temple, that everything was absolutely fine.

Once he returned to his job as a barber, Erik took to talking to himself while working.

“I suppose she looks like her mother,” he mused, slicing through someone’s throat, reshaping the blade with his powers. It was second nature for him at that point. He fixed his razors automatically. It took no extra energy. His powers had developed in the past months.

_ I hope you’ve got your mother’s looks. She was the beautiful one _ , Erik thought, sitting in the barber's chair at the end of the day.

***

Sean was on the prowl, hunting everywhere, trying to find Anya.

“Anya,” he murmured, walking through the streets.

***

“I suppose your appearance doesn't matter if I’m not going to see you again,” Erik figured as he sent a customer through the chute. He paused, listening until the man landed with a thud on the concrete before moving on.

***

“I don’t know where you are, but I’ll steal you back,” Sean growled, turning a corner.

***

“You'll always be my beautiful daughter,” Erik nodded at the chair, nudging it upright. He inspected it, looking for any spare flecks of blood.

***

“Anya, where the hell are you?” Sean asked.

***

The beggar woman lived in constant terror of the shop across the street. She huddled in the alley, watching Charles’ shop. With every puff of smoke that billowed into the sky she screeched a little louder.

“Smoke. Smoke everywhere,” she cried. “The devil lives there! He’s doing evil things in there! Someone help.” she wailed, throwing herself on the feet of whoever walked by, begging them to help.

“City’s on fire,” She gave up, sobbing, withdrawing into the alley.

***

“I’ll still have my revenge. I can still kill Shaw. It's for you and me,” Erik murmured, his voice soft enough that his customer didn't hear what he said. He circled the chair in his shop, examining the man. When he found the right spot, he severed the man’s bulging artery and sent him away without a second glance.

***

“I can practically feel you,” Sean groaned as he wandered out to the edge of the city.

***

“When I’m thinking about you and your mother-”

_ When Charles breaks me out of my nightmares,  _ Erik thought _ , _ “I’ll still remember you. Just stay the way I picture you.” He wiped down the chair. He glanced out the window, noticing a shooting star. He didn’t bother to make a wish.

***

Across town, Sean saw the same star.

“I wish I could find you,” He growled, grinding his teeth.

***

The beggar crawled back out of her alley, grabbing at people’s ankles. They all ignored her. She wept while pulling her ratty shawl tighter around her.

“Look at the sky! Smell the air! Oh God, the city’s going to burn,” She rose to her knees, reaching for someone’s coattails.

“Please, sir, go get help! Tell someone! Tell anyone! Tell the beadle and the police. Help us.”

***

“I suppose I’m going to miss you until I die,” Erik told a customer’s smiling red throat, slicing again when the man twitched. It wouldn't do to leave any survivors.

***

“Anya?” Sean approached the asylum on the river, looking in the window.

***

“If I saw you, I’d hope you looked like her,” Erik always kept his voice down while there were customers present. He wiped a bit of lather from his razor, actually shaving the cheeks of the man in the chair. The man had arrived with a wife and child. Erik didn't think it necessary to kill them all.

“We’d be a happy family, like them,” he mused, sparing a glance at the mother and daughter sitting on the trunk.

***

“I knew I’d find you,” Sean rushed forward, stopping just under the window of the asylum, looking up at Anya. She looked out, miserable, staring at the water lapping against the road.

***

“I suppose we must move on in the end,” Erik melted the lock in the door at the end of the day, walking down the stairs to find Charles.

***

“I’ll steal you,” Sean grinned up at the window, turning away and running back to the shop, eyes bright with hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People's throats get slit.


	15. God That's Good!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles sells some pies.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention please?” Hank had revised his sales pitch, adapting it from the one he used for Mystique. He grinned as he pushed his glasses up his nose. He walked up and down the street, approaching passers-by and tapping them politely on the shoulders to get their attention.

“Are you aware of the delicious smell in the air? Would you like to visit the source? Come have a meat pie,” At that, Hank pouted at the customer, begging them to come back to Xavier’s for a meal. The customers would chuckle and follow, letting Hank lead them to the shop. Erik had set up tables in the courtyard the day before for the grand re-opening. They were all full of customers, chattering away as they ate their pies.

The shop was brighter than it had ever been. It was scrubbed clean of all the dirt and grime that had built up as Charles struggled to keep up the maintenance. The dead bugs were gone, swept away and disposed of. Small lanterns hung throughout the courtyard, casting a cheery glow on the tables.

Charles was shining even brighter than the lights. He sat in the restaurant and greeted everyone who came in. He brought them pies, serving food with a speed he hadn’t had in ages. The wheelchair worked well, and Charles loved being able to move around again.

Erik stood outside, arms crossed as he stood on the bottom step of the staircase that led to his own shop. He leaned against the wall and watched the action with disinterest, not making any effort to help.

It was Charles’ night.

“Come on, it’s right this way, you can’t imagine what's waiting for you,” Hank promised. He pulled someone else over, seating them outside. Erik leaned further against the wall, melting into the shadows. Charles left the shop, going to greet his new customers and talk to them. He asked after their health, picking up a bottle of ale from his lap and pouring glasses for them.

He turned away, crossing to another table to offer them a drink. Erik studied him. His expression of disinterest softened to fondness. When he realized what he was doing, Erik schooled it into something cool and detached again.

_ Business is certainly booming, _ Erik thought at Charles, who straightened in his seat, not looking at Erik.

_ It is, darling. Thanks to you, _ Charles smiled and rushed off to serve someone else, greeting them, discussing his recipes when they asked.

“Well, it’s about the spices, you see.” Charles lied through his teeth, quirking one eyebrow and smiling. “Using them to balancing it all out.” He scanned the minds of the customers, looking for the ones who were still hungry.

“Hank, do go help those people over there for me?” Charles asked, catching Hank’s sleeve as he walked by. Hank nodded, rushing off to take orders.

The beggar woman snuck in, looking at the tables.

“This is wrong,” she hissed, batting a plate away from someone. “Please, you have to leave.”

_ Hank, get rid of her, _ Charles instructed, not breaking away from his conversation. Hank rushed across the courtyard, pushing the woman away roughly, telling her to leave.

“We’re almost out of pie,” Hank said when he saw Charles. He looked apologetic, sad that he hadn't made enough to feed more people.

“That’s all right, we’re doing well tonight,” Charles accepted the silent apology. He ignored whatever Hank said next, cutting through the courtyard to Erik. He paused when he saw people walking up the stairs, Erik turning to follow them.

_ Fresh supplies, _ Charles chuckled mentally.

_ Indeed, _ Erik was calm, thinking about Shaw as he followed his customers to their doom.

The beggar snuck back in, hiding around the fringes of the shop, watching everyone.

“Please, you have to leave,” she grabbed at her hair, tugging it, hunching over and making herself pitiful. “There’s so much evil here.”

“Hank, get rid of her,” Charles called, annoyed. Hank pushed her out, standing in the doorway and watching to make sure she didn’t come back.

Charles headed to the shop, turning around when he saw that the pies were all sold.

“That’s it, we’re out,” he sent the thought to everyone's mind. Suddenly the entire crowd felt the need to get up and pay.

“Come back tomorrow!” Hank said cheerily, watching everyone scramble for their money.

“God, that’s good!” someone called behind Charles, who grinned as he counted up their profits.


	16. By The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik take a day to themselves.

After a full week of business, Charles decided that they were doing well enough to close the shop for the day to go on a picnic. Erik joined him, guided by some mixture of affection and concern for Charles. Hank was sleeping in the shop. Charles didn't trust Hank enough to stay awake, so he had suggested that Hank sleep all day.

The pair left London, heading out into the countryside. Charles carried a small basket and a blanket in his lap. He chattered about everything and nothing the entire time, stopping only when he found a spot he deemed suitable.

Five minutes later, Charles sprawled on the ground, leaning against Erik for support. He smiled and fluttered his eyes.

_ You know, this is nice. We should do this more often, _ Charles didn’t speak out loud, not wanting to ruin the moment.

_ Shaw might stop by, I should be at the shop, _ and Erik glowered at the field they were in.

_ Oh, hush, you’ll be fine for one day. Enjoy this. _

Erik did not enjoy it. But for Charles, he tolerated it.

_ You know, I’ve been thinking, _ Charles changed the subject.

_ You’re always thinking,  _ Erik retorted with a small smile.

_ I’ve been thinking about the future. After the shop, _ Charles clarified, slapping Erik gently.

_ I go after Shaw?  _ Erik asked.

_ You have to think beyond Shaw, _ Even mentally, Charles sounded exasperated.  _ What if you never get to him? What will you do then? _

_ I don’t know, _ Erik hadn’t considered it. There was only eliminating Shaw.

_ If you never get to him, you have to consider alternate options, _ Charles prompted.

_ Sure,  _ Erik agreed.

_ If business stays good, we might be able to close up shop completely and get out of London. You want to know where we should go?  _ Charles sounded excited.

_ Where? _ Erik asked, tired.

_ The seaside, _ Charles almost cut Erik off with his excitement. His smile widened.  _ Imagine it, Erik. The air is clear; it would be bright and warm. Nothing like London. _

_ You’d leave?  _ Erik asked.

_ We could have a house, Erik. We could have a place where we’d live, and I could stretch out at the end of the day. And people out here need shaving too. There's work for you,  _ Charles reassured.

Erik sighed, not sure how to explain every reason they couldn’t do it.

_ Erik, between the two of us, we’d be able to live quietly and not make any waves, _ Charles mentally deconstructed Erik’s argument, poking holes in his logic with ease.

_ And then we could lay together at night, all warm and cozy in a good bed, and we can have people over and I’ll cook for them and it will be delightful,  _ Charles continued.

_ Anything you say, _ Erik replied lamely.

_ The weather will be nice and it will be quiet and peaceful,  _ Charles continued.

_ Of course,  _ Erik sighed again.

_ We could live out the rest of our days in relative peace, you know, _ Charles thought.

_ I need to go after Shaw,  _ Erik insisted.

_ Yes Erik, but if you didn’t, couldn’t you consider it? A life out here where he can’t get to you?  _ Charles asked.

_ I need to get to him,  _ Erik said again.

_ What if you do, then? Afterwards?  _ Charles prompted.

_ I don’t have anything planned after I kill Shaw _ , Erik admitted.

_ Seaside it is, then. Besides, you agreeing is much nicer than me going into your mind and making you agree,  _ Charles grinned smugly.  _ Pass the gin? _

They passed the rest of the afternoon in relative peace, leaving for the city again when Erik started to get twitchy. They were only in the shop for a few moments when Sean burst in.

“I found Anya,” He said in a rush.

“Where?” Erik asked immediately, closing the distance between himself and Sean, looking down at him.

“Frost’s Asylum,” Sean looked up at Erik, facing him and grinning. “And I’m going to get her out.”

“You’ll need help,” Charles appeared behind Erik. Sean glanced at him, taking in the wheelchair curiously before nodding.

“Okay. How?” He asked.

_ Frost is like me. You need to know how to block her out, make sure she won’t find out your true motivations,  _ Charles thought.

“Oh,” Sean’s eyes widened. “Okay. Please teach me that.”

Erik looked over his shoulder to Charles, curious, and Charles filled him in. Erik nodded and looked back at Sean.

“We should set you up as a wigmaker. Frost is known to sell the hair of her inmates,” Erik mused. Charles nodded behind Erik.

“She does,” he agreed.

Sean looked between the two of them. “Let’s get to work.”

Charles beckoned Sean after him, leading him to the counter. Erik had lowered it for Charles while renovating and Charles now leaned on it, talking with Sean. They talked quietly, eventually going silent.

When Erik realized they were talking telepathically, he walked out. He climbed the stairs to his shop, getting ready to write a letter.

He had had the idea as soon as Sean had arrived. Erik found paper and a pen. The pen hovered above his palm, spinning in lazy circles while he considered his wording.

Finally he sat, writing out a letter to Shaw. He wrote that Sean had rescued Anya, and that she was in the shop and waiting.

Then he lied, saying that Anya had come to her senses, that she was waiting for Shaw and wanted to see him. He signed off, saying that he only wanted to help, and that he would keep Anya safe until Shaw could get there.

Erik sealed the letter and stood, tucking it away for safekeeping. He would deliver it when Anya was closer, and use it to kill Shaw.

For once, waiting was helpful. Perhaps Charles knew what he was doing after all.


	17. Not While I'm Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank doesn't like Erik.

Charles worked with Sean for the rest of the day. He was not willing to send the boy off until he could produce a decent mental shield. When he felt confident that Sean could handle himself, Charles let him go. As the door swung closed, Charles reached out to Erik, informing him that the boy had gone and that it was just them and Hank in the shop.

Erik gave a mental acknowledgement and left, going out to deliver his letter. He slid it under Shaw’s door and took his time returning, heading up the stairs and closing the door behind him.

Charles stayed in his shop, heading for the back room. Hank sat curled in the armchair with a book, and he perked up when he saw Charles passing through.

“What are you reading?” Charles asked, pausing to peer at the book.

“Astronomy,” Hank held up the book so Charles could see the cover. His tone shifted to something almost hesitant. “Where’s Erik?”

“Erik is doing some errands,” Charles furrowed his brow, pushing a wave of  _ calm _ over Hank, who relaxed a little. “Why?”

“Erik scares me,” Hank said, looking at his book rather than at Charles. Charles thought back, trying to remember if there were any gaps in his mental hold on Hank. There were none. Charles had never given Hank permission to be afraid of Erik. Charles loved Erik. Whatever fear Hank had was naturally occurring when Charles let his mental hold go.

"You have no reason to be afraid of Erik, he's a good man. He's helped me so much," Charles gestured to his wheelchair as he spoke. He was never not annoyed with his legs, but he was as close to acceptance as he was going to get.

"But what if he wasn't a nice man?" Hank asked. "What if he was doing horrible things?" Charles furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"Nonsense. Everything is fine, Hank. I promise. Erik's doing nothing wrong," Charles assured.

"I won't let him hurt you," Hank said, out of the blue.

"He's not going to hurt me," Charles replied, taken aback.

"But if he does, or if he tries, it won't happen. I'll stop him," Hank looked so pitifully earnest that Charles had no idea what to say.

"I do appreciate that. But I think I'd put up a fair fight," Charles smiled and tapped his head. "In fact, Erik wouldn't even get close."

"He might have been listening while you taught that man how to hide his mind from the lady who's just like you," Hank insisted.

"He won't be able to. She's nowhere as strong as I am. I can get by anyone's shields," Charles said firmly, bordering on annoyed.

"I'm just saying that if he does, he'll have me to deal with," Hank crossed his arms, staring Charles down.

"I appreciate that, then. If I ever need help from you I'll make sure to reach out," Charles smiled, easing away the tension with his powers. Placated, Hank relaxed and turned back to his book.

“Hank, why don’t you run an errand for me?” Charles pulled a small coin purse out from his pockets, and fished out a few coins. Hank dropped his book, eyes going wide.

“That’s Mystique’s purse!”

“No it isn’t,” Charles lied, flustered. “It’s mine.” His fingers flew to his temple. After a long moment, the teen’s eyes glazed over and he nodded.

“It’s yours,” he agreed, picking up his book and flipping through the pages, dazed. Charles nodded, not releasing his mental hold on Hank.

“Why don’t you go work on making some pies?” Charles asked, planting the thought in Hank’s mind. Hank stood eagerly, his book forgotten.

“I’m going to go get started on the pies,” Hank parroted, bounding past Charles and down to the basement.

Charles sighed, looking at the ceiling.

_ Hank doesn’t like you,  _ He thought, frowning at the wood beams.

_ Make him like me, _ Erik replied.

_ Whenever I let go of his mind, he gets suspicious of you. Sooner or later, something bad is bound to happen;  _ Charles glowered upwards when Erik’s thoughts flicked to his razors.  _ Don’t you dare kill him. _

_ You just said he’s becoming a problem,  _ Erik replied.  _ I can solve the problem. _

_ And who’s going to make the pies that hide the evidence?  _ Charles challenged.

_ We’ll find someone new.  _ Erik sent a mental shrug.

_ Hank stays alive,  _ Charles argued.  _ For now. _

_ For now, _ Erik agreed, going quiet. Charles sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on Hank’s mind. He made sure he had a tight grip on it and hoped that Hank would not do something that would lead to them making blue pies.

***

Sean was talking to Emma Frost, manager of the asylum. He focused on keeping the mental block Charles had taught him in place. Emma nodded when he said he wanted to collect hair for making a wig.

She stood smoothly, tilting her head at him. A breeze wafted over Sean’s mind, and he tried not to flinch at the presence. Charles had warned him about that.

“What shade?” she asked after a long moment, batting her eyes. Sean thought of Anya’s hair.

“Red-brown,” he replied, sounding more confident than he felt. Emma nodded, gliding past Sean to lead him through the halls of the asylum.

“In here,” she replied, opening the door, glaring at the girls huddled inside.

“Go to sleep,” she said, harsh tone reverberating in the small room. Everyone inside slumped over, hitting the ground. “Take your pick.” she stepped to the middle of the room, watching Sean expectantly.

Sean stepped in after her, glancing around, pretending to inspect their hair while searching for Anya. When he found her, he grinned to himself, laying one hand on her shoulder and spinning around.

“Her,” he said, and Anya stirred, blinking up at Sean blearily. Emma stepped forward; ready to assist him when her eyes narrowed at Anya, who was staring at Sean, recognition dawning on her face.

Sean realized Emma was figuring things out and panicked. He did the first thing he could think of and clapped his hands over Anya’s ears. He screamed as loud as he could. Emma shrieked and pressed her hands over her ears, falling to her knees.

Sean dragged Anya out after him, slamming the door behind him, leaving Emma trapped in a room full of very awake, very angry women. Someone screamed behind them as they ran out, and Sean didn’t stay long enough to find out who. For now, he had Anya, and that was enough.


	18. The Beggar Woman's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone goes to the shop at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings are at the end.

Erik sat in the barber’s chair, legs crossed, his razors floating in front of him. He sharpened them again and again, the metal smooth as ever as he melted it onto itself. He had delivered the letter, and Sean was off retrieving Anya. Everything was coming together.

_ Erik, Azazel is here,  _ Charles sounded strained.  _ He wants to look around. Someone put in a complaint. Would you slit his neck, please? _

Erik stood; brow furrowed, and made his way down the stairs. He entered the shop and bumped into Azazel, who reacted by appearing several feet away in a puff of smoke.

“Apologies,” he bowed his head to Erik before turning back to Charles. “As I said, I have received a complaint and must follow through.”

_ I just started withholding his ability to teleport, _ Charles sounded in Erik’s head.  _ And the fact that he knows how to teleport. He can't escape from you. _

“Excuse me, beadle,” Erik stepped forward. “Have you taken advantage of your free shave yet? I do not recall you doing so.”

“I have not,” Azazel glanced at Erik. “Perhaps another time, da?”

“Well, there’s no time like the present. What do you think? A shave won’t take long at all, and then you can carry on with your business while refreshed,” Erik pushed. The beadle tilted his head, considering, before nodding slowly.

“It does sound nice,” he finally agreed. Erik smiled.

“Of course. Follow me,” he gestured out, and Azazel walked out the door, almost dazed. Erik glanced over his shoulder at Charles.

_ Hold him. _ Erik commanded, and Charles nodded.

_ I will. _

***

They disappeared up the stairs, and Charles relaxed only a little bit. He focused again on Hank, who had encountered a finger in the meat grinder. Before Hank could react, Charles erased the memory and forced him to go back to robotically grinding the meat.

Charles watched through Hank’s eyes as the chute that connected Erik's shop to the basement began to rumble. Azazel fell through, limp body thudding on the stone. The majority of his scalp following a moment later. Blood flowed from his head, pooling around the drain to the sewer. Charles took over Hank entirely; stopping whatever ideas the boy might have, making him focus on the meat grinder instead.

Erik reappeared in the shop a moment later, blood splattered across his face. He wiped it with his arm, removing some and smearing the rest.

Charles stared up at him, intoxicated. He reached up, clenching his jaw when he couldn’t quite reach Erik’s face. Erik looked at Charles and leaned down, allowing Charles to wipe some blood from his cheek with his thumb.

Charles grinned, stretching up to press a quick kiss to Erik’s lips.

“Thank you darling, I really did hate the damn beadle,” he murmured. Erik couldn’t help but chuckle.

“We all did,”

***

The beggar woman stared at them, her nose pressed against the glass of the window. Her eyes widened when she saw them kiss, and she ran up to Erik’s shop, sobbing. Charles realized she was there, and groaned.

_ You have a visitor. I’ll bet she’s the one who reported me to Azazel, _ Charles sent an image of the beggar woman to Erik, who grit his teeth.

_ I’ll be back in a moment, _ he replied, razor floating out of his pocket and spinning above his palm. He stormed up the stairs, listening to the chanting emanating from his shop.

“Beadle, beadle, beadle, beadle, where are you?” she crooned, looking over the bloodied chair in the middle of the shop, tears still wet on her cheeks. “I can’t find you anywhere.”

Erik stepped into the shop, slamming the door shut behind him. The beggar jumped, whirling around, cowering in his presence. Erik stepped closer, and she flinched.

“What do you want?” he demanded, voice edging on a roar.

“I’m just looking for the beadle, I told him all about your-” she paused, stepping closer to Erik, standing an inch away from him. Erik stepped back, almost overwhelmed by the stink coming off of her in waves.

“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her head back to look up at him.

Erik didn’t respond. The moment the flesh of her throat peeked out from the rags, Erik clenched his fist, and the razor flew forward. It swiped across her throat, a clean red line blooming on her skin. Blood gushed forth and she fell to her knees. Erik rolled his eyes and shoved her down the chute with his foot. The second he heard the impact of her body, he flew back to Charles.

“She’s taken care of,” he spit. Charles looked surprised.

“Really?”

“She’s dead,” Erik confirmed. Charles grinned.

“Will you kiss me again?” he asked, and Erik nodded, pressing one knee between Charles' legs and leaning on the other man's wheelchair. He brushed away Charles’ hair and brought their faces together once more.

***

Sean hurried Anya up the stairs to Erik’s shop. They paused when they saw it empty, looking at each other. They had stopped on the way to disguise Anya, making her look like a boy.

“What now?” Anya asked. Sean glanced around.

“Just stay here for a moment. I’m going to go make sure we still have passage on the next ship,” Sean put one hand on her shoulder, meaning to reassure.

“And then all our dreams come true?” she asked, resting her hand on Sean's.

“That’s the plan,” Sean confirmed. Anya looked at her feet and shrugged him away.

“I’ve only ever had nightmares,” she whispered. Sean hugged her close.

“That’s going to change. I promise. I’ll be back soon,” he smiled gently and ran out the door.

Anya wandered around the shop, looking at the razors on the table. She glanced at the chair, taking a step over to examine it, eyes going wide when she realized the thing was doused in blood.

Hearing unfamiliar footsteps approaching, she panicked and looked for a place to hide. Her eyes narrowed on the trunk across the shop. She flew to it, getting in and hiding, just in time to see someone unfamiliar leading Shaw into the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More throat slitting.


	19. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings are at the end. And some other stuff.

Seconds after they broke apart, as Charles was reaching up to wipe away more blood, Shaw walked in, wearing a strange helmet. The pair turned to look at him, surprised.

“Anya’s here?” Shaw spoke without preamble, staring directly at Erik, who nodded and straightened.

“She’s on her way. She’ll be here soon,” he said, voice deep with authority he did not have.

_ Erik, I can’t read his mind, _ Charles’ panicked voice floated into Erik’s head.  _ Whatever he’s got on, it’s blocking me out. _

“Good,” Shaw looked pleased.

“Why don’t we go up to my shop to wait for her? That’s where she’ll be,” Erik suggested, taking a step to Shaw.

_ If I can get his helmet off, I’m going to need your help to kill him,  _ Erik thought at Charles.

_ Why is he here?  _ Charles was still panicking.

_ So I can kill him. You were right, you know, telling me to wait. I’m going to enjoy this.  _ Erik grinned and walked past Shaw.

He led Shaw out of the shop, climbing the stairs slowly. He reached out to make sure the rest of his razors were exactly where they belonged.

“And she’s repented? She wants me?” Shaw sounded so hopeful that Erik had to swallow back the bile that rose in his throat.

“Absolutely,” he cleared his throat, leading Shaw back into the shop. “All she spoke of was you.” Shaw grinned, straightening his jacket and looking around. Erik paused.

“How about a shave?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Shaw glanced back at him.

“Just to freshen up before she gets here. Make yourself presentable,” Erik gestured to his face.

“Oh. Good idea,” Shaw seemed almost flustered. It was disconcerting. Almost. He sat down in the chair, getting comfy.

“Might I inquire why you’re wearing such a helmet?” Erik asked, grabbing a sheet and draping it over Shaw.

“Oh, it’s meant to block out mind readers. I brought it in case Frost finds her way here. I don’t want her fiddling around in my mind,”

“Of course not,” Erik murmured, knowing that Charles was lurking, listening. Wherever he was in the shop, Charles was still listening.

“Seeing as Miss Frost is not currently here, might I remove it, just for the shave?” he asked.

Shaw hesitated before nodding. Erik slipped the helmet off.

“Think of the pretty women,” Erik growled, mentally nudging Charles to be ready.

“Yes, of course,” Shaw murmured his reply, closing his eyes. Erik closed his for a moment as well, taking a deep breath and exhaling. He opened his eyes and looked at the five razors on the table. They all rose into the air, unfolding and hovering menacingly behind him. Erik drew them closer, pulling the last razor out of his pocket by hand and sending it into the air with the rest of them.

“Of course, I’m sure you don’t recall the prettiest of women. It’s been so many years, after all. What’s all that time to a judge who has everything he wants?” Shaw’s eyes opened, and his mouth dropped when he took in the six razors aimed at his body. His mouth opened and closed as he processed what was happening.

“Max Eisenhardt,” Shaw realized, horror dawning in his tone.

“ _ Now Charles! _ ” Erik called, both aloud and mentally.

In the shop, Charles’ fingers flew to his temple as he focused all his energy into grabbing a hold of Shaw’s mind and freezing him. He gasped, his hold on Hank slipping. Charles could do nothing to get it back, while he took control of Shaw. It was nearly impossible to hold the judge.

Erik prowled around the frozen figure that stared up at him with a mixture of contempt and fear. Erik drank it in.

“Max Eisenhardt,” he confirmed, smiling and calm. He pulled a razor out of the air, looked at it for a moment. He decided that he could not be not bothered by their dullness, and drove it through the middle of Shaw’s throat. It would be more painful if it wasn't sharp.

The other five razors flew by him and embedded themselves in Shaw's chest, disappearing into his clothes, stopping only when the hilts of each razor could not go any further.  Erik took special care to make sure one of them stopped right in front of Shaw’s heart, and it waited, ready for Erik’s command.

“Max Eisenhardt indeed,” Erik hissed, twisting the razors around with a flick of his wrist, grinning when they ground against and scraped his ribs. He drew his razor out of Shaw’s throat and pressed it against the side of his neck, relishing the feel of everything giving way beneath his hands. Shaw did not die immediately and Erik realized this, growing gleeful when he realized he could make it hurt more. Laughing, he pressed harder.

***

Charles gasped in the shop, one hand flying to his throat as he felt the razor sliding through it- hot and cold and tearing through the muscles.  He gagged, coughing and gasping, unable to breathe. Then the five other phantom razors suddenly pierced his chest, each one acutely felt as they shattered his ribs and punctured every organ they touched. Erik's rage was killing Charles. He felt himself drowning in a black wave of revenge as it washed over him.

To anyone walking by, they would have seen Charles rubbing his throat. Inside the shop, Charles was very aware of everything Erik was doing to the judge.

Charles kept his grip on Shaw the entire time, making sure Erik could relish the moment. Whatever enjoyment Charles might have taken in the judge’s death became irrelevant as he the pain overwhelmed him. Charles finally let go when the pressure eased.

Both hands flew to grab his throat that was by some miracle intact. A small stream of blood ran from Charles’ nose and he slumped forward in his chair, feeling every bit as murdered as Shaw.

***

Erik leaned back, drenched with Shaw’s blood. With the last of his energy, he nudged the last razor into Shaw’s heart. Erik stepped back, falling to his knees.

He let his head drop forward, his chin hitting his chest, and reached out to push the chair back. A moment later, Shaw was gone from his sight. He pulled the razors out of Shaw’s chest, bringing them back into the shop.

As they floated up from the chute, Erik stood again. He reverently picked them out of the air and cradled them to his chest for a moment.

“Well done, my friends,” he murmured, putting them in their case.

***

Anya watched the entire thing. Horrified, she crouched down, and the lid of the trunk thumped shut above her. It opened a moment later of its own accord, and she cowered, terrified.

***

Erik heard the thump and turned, glaring at the trunk. He opened it, striding across the room and grabbing the boy inside. He narrowed his eyes.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I saw-” Anya blubbered. They didn’t recognize each other.

“You’re in need of a shave too, then?” Erik asked, dragging her out of the trunk by the metal buttons of her shirt and hauling her into the bloodied chair.

He raised one hand to summon a razor.

_ Erik, I need your help, _ Charles’ voice sounded in his head and Erik paused, the razor halfway to his hand. The voice was weak, desperate.

“Forget you ever saw my face and never come back,” What started as a warning turned into a roar and Anya fled. Erik grabbed the razor from the air again and looked at the helmet Shaw had left behind. He remembered what the Judge had said, about it blocking out mind readers. He put it on without a second thought and left the shop, melting the lock behind him, ensuring nobody could ever get inside.

He walked down the stairs, searching for Charles. The baker was still slumped in his chair, holding his head in his hands. He straightened when the door opened and swiped the blood away from his nose.

“You disappeared,” Charles sounded terrified as he eyed the helmet. “I couldn’t find you, I- I lost Hank. When I grabbed Shaw I had to let him go. He saw everything and now he’s looking for help.”

“Where?” Erik growled.

“In the sewers below the basement. I can't go there and I'm too weak to find his mind,” Charles said.

He looked destroyed, Erik thought.

Erik melted the lock on the door to the basement and flung it open, going down the stairs. He lifted Charles behind him, carrying the chair without a second thought. Adrenaline had taken over. He didn't feel anything.

“Erik,” Charles spoke behind him. “Please, I know you want to kill Hank, but please don’t. I can erase all his memories, make him believe anything and he can keep working for us, he doesn’t have to die. He's a puppet, it won't be hard.”

Erik didn’t respond, setting Charles down at the foot of the stairs. Charles rushed past Erik to look at Shaw, placing himself between Erik and the pile of bodies that had accumulated that night. He almost bumped into the large cast-iron oven on the way. Erik stepped toward the sewers, looking down at them.

“Hank, where are you?” Charles called, his voice turning eerie as it echoed through the tunnels. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, come on.”

Erik shook his head and walked over to Charles, looking down at him tiredly. Charles leaned to his left, blocking something.

“Erik, what are you thinking?” he asked, desperate. "Please, tell me."

Erik didn’t listen. He crouched down, dropping the razor that was still in his hand. He ignored Charles completely to nudge the beggar woman. She rolled into the space illuminated by the fires from the oven. He bit his lip, staring at her face.

“Erik?” Charles turned around, still worried.

“She asked if she knew me,” Erik muttered, finally looking up at Charles. “And I killed her.”

“It’s not her,” Charles warned, eyes wide.  

“She was here the whole time," Erik said, looking at the body of his wife. "Magda was here the whole time. You said she died.”

“I didn’t technically say she died, I said she drank arsenic. Which she did! And it didn’t kill her but it made her go a little crazy. Her mind is in ribbons; it was like trying to read broken glass. I mean, she may as well have died, we all mourned-” Charles stopped blathering when Erik tilted his head, examining Charles. The baker grabbed the wheels of his chair, looking uselessly for a place to flee to.

“Charles, I understand,” Erik said, the pinnacle of calm.

“You do?” Charles looked up at Erik, hope shining in his eyes.

“Of course. How practical of you,” Erik leaned forward a little, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist. Charles smiled and wrapped his arms around Erik’s neck, and Erik stepped back. A moment later they were recreating their dance from weeks ago.

“You think?” Charles asked again.

Erik nodding, waltzing around.

“You did what anyone in your position would do. And what’s dead should stay dead, isn’t that right?” he asked.

“I only did it because I love you,” Charles said, looking at Erik adoringly. Erik clenched his jaw and stopped in front of the oven, wrenching the door open with his powers and throwing Charles inside. He grabbed the door and heaved it shut, relishing the feel of it beneath his hands. He glanced inside, looking at Charles screaming.

“I loved you too.” He murmured. Erik stepped away, dropping to his knees to cradle Magda in his arms. He slipped the helmet from his head and let it roll away.

Behind him, a grate moved and a small blue hand struggled to push it out of the way. Erik exhaled, lifting the grate and moving it out of the way for the boy.

Hank leapt through, stalking towards Erik.

Erik closed his eyes, jaw clenching as he sent the razor skittering backwards until it bumped into Hank’s foot. The teen knelt down and picked it up, walking toward Erik, who tilted his head back.

Hank had less experience with killing than Erik, but twice the strength. It served him well as he pushed the razor through Erik’s neck. Blood spilled forth, drenching Magda. Hank dropped the razor and ran, not willing to stick around until Erik finally died.

Erik fell forward. Behind him, Charles’ screams subsided, and the basement was quiet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic deaths by throat slitting, burning alive, and stabbing. 
> 
> Other notes: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this, the first thing I ever finished in the cherik fandom. You're all incredible for supporting me and readings.
> 
> Kudos and comment if you want, and my tumblr is bad-luck-blue-eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to extend a HUGE thank you to idareu2bme for beta reading, this is leagues better from your help and advice. If you want to follow this story as it is being written or have any questions, feel free to follow my tumblr, which is bad-luck-blue-eyes. I'd love to hear from you!


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